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SOLITUDE 

PAG-E 129. 



LOUDON: 
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1824. 



SOIIT 



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WITH RESPECT TO ITS INFLUENCE UPQN 

THE MIND A>:x> TlIS I1AET, 
BY M. ZIMMERMAN^. 










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L O ^ T D N; 
Tiiblished 07 T. Griffiths . 2 '. 
1 

1824. 



SOLITUDE : 



ON 



THE MIND AND THE HEART. 



BY 



M. ZIMMERMANN, 



LONDON: 

T. GRIFFITHS, 2, WARWICK COURT, HOLBORN 

SOLD BY R. JENNINGS, 2, POULTRY. 

MDCCCXXV. 



I* 



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t. white, printer, 
johnson's court, fleet street. 



SOLITUDE, 



CHAP. I. 



INTRODUCTION. 



In this unquiet and tumultuous scene of life, sur- 
rounded by the restraints of ceremony, the urgencies 
of business, the shackles of society, and in the even- 
ing of my days, I feel no delight in recollecting 
pleasures that pass so transiently away : my soul 
dwells with higher satisfaction on the memory of 
those happy days of my youth, when Solitude was 
my sole amusement; when I knew no place more 
agreeable than the sequestered cloister and the silent 
cell, the lonely mountain and the sublimely awful 
grove ; or any pleasure more lively than that I ex- 
perienced in conversing with the dead. 

I love to recal to my mind the cool and silent 
scenes of Solitude ; to oppose them to the heat and 
bustle of the world; to meditate on those advantages 
which the great and good of every age have acknow- 
ledged they possess, though perhaps too seldom ex- 
perienced; to reflect on the powerful consolations 
they afford when grief corrodes the mind; when 



2 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

disease afflicts the body, when the number of our 
years bends us to the ground; to contemplate, in 
short, the benign influence of Solitude upon all the 
troubles of the heart. 

Solitude is that state in which the soul freely 
resigns itself to its own reflections. The sage, there- 
fore, who banishes from his mind all recollection of 
external objects, and retires within himself, is not 
less solitary than he who forsakes society, and de- 
votes himself entirely to the calm enjoyments of a 
lonely life. 

The mind surrenders itself in retirement to the 
unrestrained enjoyment of its own ideas, and adopts 
without limitation or restraint the sentiments which 
the taste, the temper, the inclination, and the genius 
of its possessor inspire. 

Observe the shepherds of those extensive deserts : 
one chaunts the beauty which captivates his soul ; 
another moulds the clay into a rustic vase ; the sur- 
rounding charms of nature form the sole delight and 
admiration of a third; while a fourth investigates 
the precepts of the moral law, or contemplates 
the sublime truths of our holy religion. If they 
were respectively to meet a lovely shepherdess be- 
neath the shades of their retirement, seated on the 
borders of some gently-flowing stream, the heart of 
each might perhaps become the slave of love ; but 
deprived of all that is dear to man, and doomed 
to taste involuntary Solitude, the best resource for 
each is to resign himself to the dictates of his in- 
clination; a resource to which every well-disposed 



ZIMMEKMANN ON SOLITUDE. J 

and virtuous mind may constantly resort without 
dismay or danger. 

Man in a state of perfect freedom possesses an 
innate right to follow the suggestions of his fancy : 
some are delighted by the soft melody of the night- 
ingale, while others listen with equal pleasure to the 
hideous shriekings of the owl. Some there are to 
whom even the visits of friendship are displeasing ; 
who, to avoid the painful intercourse, confine them- 
selves eternally at home, and consume their hours in 
writing books or killing flies. 

The poor dejected heart constantly attaches itself 
to some favourite object, as far at least as circum- 
stances and situation will permit, from which it draws 
its consolation and support. Roaming through the 
cloisters of the Magdalene Convent at Hidelsheim, I 
was surprised to observe an aviary of Canary birds 
in the cell of a religieuse. A Braban^on gentleman, 
fearful of the effects of cold, and having the same 
aversion from women that certain persons are said 
to feel from mice, lived five-and-twenty years at 
Brussels immured within his house, without any 
other amusement than that of collecting a magnifi- 
cent cabinet of paintings and pictures. 

Under the confinement even of the dungeon itself, 
men, deprived for ever of their liberty, endeavour to 
beguile the Solitude in which they are forced to live, 
by devoting their thoughts, as far as they are able, 
to those pursuits which afford them the highest 
pleasure. The Swiss philosopher, Michael Ducret, 
measured the heights of the Alps during his confine 



4 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

ment in the prison of Aarburg, in the canton of 
Berne, in Swisserland; and while Baron de Trenck, 
a prisoner in the tower of Magdeburgh, was every 
moment anxiously employed in forming projects to 
effect his escape, General Walrave, the companion 
of his captivity, contentedly passed his time in the 
feeding of chickens . 

The term Solitude does not, I conceive, always 
import a total absence from the world. Sometimes 
it conveys to my mind the idea of dwelling in a 
convent, or a country village : sometimes I under- 
stand it to mean the library of a man of learning : 
and sometimes an occasional retreat from the 
tumults of active life. 

Men are frequently solitary without being alone ; 
for to constitute a state of Solitude, it is sufficient if 
the mind be entirely absorbed by those ideas which 
its own reflections create. 

The haughty baron, proud of the distinctions of 
birth, feels himself alone in every society, the mem- 
bers of which are not ennobled by an equal number 
of titles derived through a long line of hereditary 
descents. A profound reasoner is, in general, so- 
litary at the tables of the witty and the gay. The 
mind, even amidst the clamours of a popular as- 
sembly, may withdraw its attention from the sur- 
rounding objects, may retire as effectually within 
itself, may become as solitary as a monk in his 
monastery, or a hermit in his cell. In short, Soli- 
tude may be as easily attained amidst the gayest 
circles of the most brilliant city, as in the uninter- 



ZIMME11MANN ON SOLITUDE. 5 

rupted silence of a poor, deserted village ; at London 
and at Paris, as well as on the plains of Thebais, or 
in the desert of Nitria. 

A treatise, therefore, upon the real advantages of 
Solitude, appeared to me a proper means to facilitate 
the acquisition of happiness. The fewer external 
resources men possess, the greater efforts they make 
to discover in themselves the power of being happy ; 
and the more they are enabled to part without regret 
from their connections with each other, the nearer 
they most certainly approach to true felicity. The 
pleasures of the world are certainly beneath the 
attention with which they are pursued; but it is 
equally true, that, upon a serious examination, all 
those catholic notions, once so celebrated, of a total 
seclusion from the world and its concerns, appear 
altogether impracticable and absurd. To render the 
mind independent of human assistances, and teach it 
to rely entirely upon the strength of its own powers, 
is, I acknowledge, a noble achievement : but it is 
certainly equally meritorious to learn the art of 
living happily in society, and of rendering ourselves 
useful and agreeable to the rest of mankind. 

While, therefore, I describe the allurements of 
Solitude, I shall endeavour to warn my readers against 
those dangerous and extravagant notions into which 
some of its disciples have been betrayed; notions 
equally repugnant to the voice of reason and the 
precepts of our divine religion. 

Happily, to avoid all the dangers by which my 
subject is surrounded, to sacrifice nothing to pre- 



O ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

judice, to advance nothing in violation of truth, 
to obtain the approbation of the peaceful disci- 
ples of reason and philosophy, will be my anxi- 
ous endeavour ; and if Affliction shall derive a ray 
of consolation from my labours ; if Melancholy, in 
forgetting the horrors of her situation, shall raise 
her dejected head to bless me ; if I shall be able to 
convince the innocent votaries of rural retirement, 
that the springs of pleasure soon dry up in the heat 
of the metropolis ; that the heart remains cold and 
senseless in the midst of all its noisy and factitious 
joys ; if they shall learn to feel the superior plea- 
sures of a country life, become sensible of the variety 
of resources they afford against idleness and vexa- 
tion; what purity of sentiment, what peaceful 
thoughts, what unfading happiness the view of 
verdant meads, the sight of numerous flocks and 
herds quitting the fertile meadows on the close of 
day, instil into the mind ; with what ineffable de- 
light the sublime beauty of a wild romantic country, 
interspersed with distant cottages, and occupied by 
freedom and content, ravishes the soul; how much 
more readily, in short, we forget all the pains and 
troubles of a wounded heart on the borders of a gen- 
tle stream, than amidst the concourse of deceitful 
joys so fatally followed in the courts of princes; 
my task will be accomplished, and all my wishes 
amply gratified ! 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 



CHAP. II. 

THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE. 

Solitude engages the affections of men whenever 
it holds up a picture of tranquillity to their views. 
The doleful and monotonous sound of the clock of 
a sequestered monastery, the silence of nature in a 
still night, the pure air on the summit of a high 
mountain, the thick darkness of an ancient forest, 
the sight of a temple fallen into ruins, inspire the 
soul with a soft melancholy, and banish all recol- 
lectiun of the world and its concerns. But the man 
who cannot hold a friendly correspondence with his 
own heart, who derives no comfort from the reflec- 
tions of his mind, who dreads the idea of meditation, 
and is fearful of passing' a single moment with him'" 
self, looks with an equal eye on Solitude and on death. 
He endeavours to enjoy all the voluptuousness which 
the world affords ; drains the pernicious cup of 
pleasure to its dregs, and until the dreadful moment 
approaches when he beholds his nerves shattered, 
and all the powers of his soul destroyed, he has not 
courage to make the delayed confession, " I am tired 
of the world and all its idle follies, and now prefer 
the mournful shade of the cypress, to the intoxication 
of its noisy pleasures and tumultuous joys. 

The dangers to which a life of Solitude is ex- 
posed, for even in Solitude many real dangers exist, 



8 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

afford no substantial argument against it, as by a 
judicious employment of the hours of activity and 
repose, and a proper vigilance upon the desires of 
the heart, they may be easily eluded. The adven- 
turous navigator, when acquainted with the signal of 
approaching dangers, and the situation of those rocks 
and shoals which threaten his safety, no longer fears 
the perils to which he was before exposed. Still 
less are the advantages of Solitude disproved by the 
complaints of those, who, feeling a continual desire 
to escape from themselves, relish no pleasures but 
those which the world affords : to whom retirement 
and tranquillity appear vapid and fatiguing ; and who, 
unconscious of any higher delight than that of paying 
and receiving visits, have of course no idea of the 
charms of Solitude. 

It is, therefore, only to those distinguished be- 
ings, who can resort to their own bosoms for an 
antidote against disquiet, who are fearless of the 
numerous sacrifices which virtue may demand, whose 
souls are endowed with sufficient energy to drive 
away the dread of being alone, and whose hearts are 
susceptible of the pure and tranquil delights of 
domestic felicity, that I pretend to recommend the 
advantages of Solitude. The miserable being, in 
whose bosom the corruptions of the world have 
already destroyed these precious gifts of nature ; 
who knows no other pleasure, is sensible to no other 
happiness, than what cards or the luxury of a richly- 
furnished table affords; who disdains all exercise of 
the understanding, thinks all delicacy of sentiment 



2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Q 

unnatural, and, by a brutality almost inconceivable, 
laughs at the sacred name of sensibility; must be 
lost to virtue, and utterly incapable of pleasure from 
any operations of his own mind. 

Philosophers and ministers of the Gospel, if they 
were entirely to deprive themselves of the pleasures 
of society, and to shun with rigid severity the honest 
comforts and rational amusements of life, would 
without doubt essentially injure the interests of wis- 
dom and virtue ; but there are not, at present, many 
preceptors who carry their doctrines to this extent : 
on the contrary, there exists a multitude, both in the 
country and the town, to whom Solitude would be 
insupportable, who shamefully devote their time to 
noisy dissipations and tumultuous pleasures altoge- 
ther inconsistent with their characters and functions. 
The celebrated sera is passed when a life of retire- 
ment and contemplation was alone esteemed, and 
when the approaches to heaven were measured in 
proportion as the mind receded from its attachments 
to the world. 

After having examined the influence of Solitude 
upon the general habits of life, and upon those 
ordinary pleasures which are pursued with such 
unceasing avidity, I shall shew, in the first division 
of this chapter, that it enables man to live indepen- 
dent and alone ; and there is no misfortune it can- 
not alleviate, no sorrow that it will not soften ; that 
it adds dignity to his character, and gives fresh 
vigour to the powers of his mind ; that he cannot in 
any other situation acquire so perfect a knowledge 

is 3 



10 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of himself; that it enlarges the sphere of attention, 
and ripens the seeds of judgment : in short, that it 
is from the influence of Solitude alone that man can 
hope for the fruition of unbroken pleasures and 
never-fading felicity. 

The enjoyments of active life may be rendered 
perfectly consistent with all the advantages of Soli- 
tude ; and we shall soon discover upon what founda- 
tions the opinions of those philosophers are built, 
who maintain that the tumults of the world, and the 
dissipations of its votaries, are incompatible with the 
calm exercise of reason, the decisions of a sober 
judgment, the investigation of truth, and the study 
of the human heart. 

The legion of fantastic fashions, to which a man 
of pleasure is obliged to sacrifice his time, impair 
the rational faculties of his mind, and destroy the 
native energies of his soul. Forced continually to 
lend himself to the performance of a thousand little 
triflings, a thousand mean absurdities, he becomes 
by habit frivolous and absurd. The face of things 
no longer wears its true and genuine aspect; and 
his depraved taste loses all relish for rational enter- 
tainment or substantial pleasure. The infatuation 
seizes on his brain, and his corrupted heart teems 
with idle fancies and vain imaginations. These 
illusions however, through which the plainest object 
comes distorted to his view, might easily be dispel- 
led. Accustomed to a lonely life, and left to reflect 
in calmness and sobriety, during the silence of the 
solitary hour, upon the false joys and deceitful plea- 



ZIMMERMAXN ON SOLITUDE. 11 

sures which the parade of visiting and the glare of 
public entertainments offer to our view, he would 
soon perceive and candidly acknowledge their no- 
thingness and insipidity : he would soon behold the 
pleasures of the world in their true colours, and feel 
that he had blindly wandered in pursuit of phan 
toms ; which, though bodies in appearance, are mere 
shadows in reality. 

The inevitable consequences of this ardent pur- 
suit of entertainments and diversions are languor 
and dissatisfaction. He who has drained the cup of 
pleasure to its last drop ; who is obliged to confess 
that his hopes are fled, and that the world no longer 
contains an object worthy of his pursuit; who feels 
disappointment and disgust mingled with all his 
enjoyments; who seems astonished at his own in- 
sensibility ; who no longer possesses the magic of 
the enchantress Imagination to gild and decorate the 
scene ; calls in vain to his assistance the daughters 
of Sensuality ; their caresses can no longer charm 
his dark and melancholy mind ; the soft and syren 
song of Luxury no longer can dispel the cloud of 
discontent which hovers round his head. 

Behold yon weak old man, his mind enervated, 
and his constitution gone, running after pleasures 
that he no more must taste. The airs of gaiety 
which he affects render him ridiculous. His at- 
tempts to shine expose him to derision. His endea- 
vours to display the wit and eloquence of youth, 
betray him into the garrulity of old age. His con- 
versation, filled with repetitions and fatiguing nar- 



12 ZXMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

rative, creates disgust ; and only forces the smile of 
pity from the lips of his youthful rivals. To the eye 
of Wisdom however, who saw him through all the 
former periods of his life, sparkling in the circles of 
folly, and rioting in the noisy rendezvous of extra- 
vagance and vice, his character always appeared the 
same. 

The wise man, in the midst of the most tumul- 
tuous pleasures, frequently retires within himself, 
and silently compares what he might do with what 
he is doing Surrounded even by the excesses of 
intoxication, Jie associates only with those warm and 
generous souls, whose highly elevated minds are 
drawn towards eacli other by wishes the most vir- 
tuous, and sentiments the most sublime. The silence 
of Solitude has more than once given birth to enter- 
prises of the greatest importance and utility; and 
some of the most celebrated actions of mankind were 
perhaps first inspired among the sounds of music, 
or conceived in the mazes of the dance. Sensible 
and elevated minds never commune more closely 
with themselves than in those places of public resort, 
in which the low and vulgar, abandoned to the ca- 
price of fashion and the illusions of sensuality, be- 
come incapable of reflection, and blindly suffer 
themselves to be overwhelmed by the torrent of folly 
and distraction. 

Vacant souls are always burdensome to their 
possessors ; and it is the weight of this burden that 
impels them incessantly in the pursuits of dissipa- 
tion for relief. The irresistible inclination by which 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 13 

they are carried continually abroad, the anxiety with 
which they search for society, the trifles on which 
from day to day they spend their time, announce the 
emptiness of their minds, and the frivolous affection 
of their hearts. Possessing no resources within 
themselves, they are forced to rove abroad, and 
fasten upon every object that presents itself to their 
view, until they find the wished-for harbour to pro- 
tect them against the attacks of discontent, and 
prevent them from reflecting on their ignoble con- 
dition. 

The enjoyments of sense, therefore, are thus 
indefatigably followed, only as means of escaping 
from themselves. They seize with avidity upon 
every object that promises to occupy the present 
hour agreeably, and provide entertainment for the 
day that is passing over their heads : this must ever 
be some external object, some new phantom, some- 
thing that shall prevent them from remaining with 
themselves. The man whose mind is sufficiently 
fertile to invent hour after hour new schemes of 
pleasure, to open day after day fresh sources of 
amusement for the lazy and luxurious, is a valuable 
companion indeed; he is their best, their only 
friend : not that they are destitute of those abilities 
which might prevent this sacrifice of time, and pro- 
cure them relief, but having been continually led 
from object to object in the pursuit of pleasure, the 
assistance of others has habitually become the first 
want and greatest desire of their lives : they have 
insensibly lost the power of acting from themselves, 



14 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and depend for every thing on those about them, 
without being able to direct or determine the im- 
pressions they ought to receive. This is the reason 
why the rich, who are seldom acquainted with any 
other pleasures than those of sense, are, in general, 
the most miserable of men. 

The nobility and courtiers of France think their 
enjoyments appear vain and ridiculous only to those 
who 1 ave not the opportunity of partaking in them : 
but I am of a different opinion. Returning one 
Sunday from Trianon to Versailles, I perceived at a 
distance a number of people assembled upon the ter- 
race of the castle; and on a nearer approach I be- 
held Louis the Fifteenth surrounded by his court at 
the windows of his palace. A man very richly 
dressed, with a large pair of branching antlers fas- 
tened on his head, whom they called the stag, was 
pursued by about a dozen others who composed the 
pack. The pursued and the pursuers leaped into the 
great canal, scrambled out again, and ran about to 
all parts, while the air resounded with acclamations 
and clapping of hands, to encourage the continuance 
of the sport. " What can all this mean ? " said I to 
a Frenchman who stood near me. " Sir," he re- 
plied with a very serious countenance, " it is for the 
entertainment of the court. " 

The most obscure and indigent conditions are 
certainly happier than the state of these sovereigns 
of the world, and their slavish retinue, when reduced 
to the necessity of adopting such mean and abject 
modes of entertainment. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 15 

The courtier, when he appears at a levee, out- 
wardly affects the face of joy, while his heart is 
inwardly a prey to the most excruciating sorrows ; 
and speaks with the liveliest interest of transactions 
in which he has no concern : but perhaps it is ne- 
cessary to his consequence that he should raise false 
appearances to the minds of his visitors, who on 
their side impose equally on him in return. The 
success, alas ! of all his schemes affords him no other 
pleasure than to see his apartments crowded with 
company, whose only merit and recommendation in 
his eyes consist in a string of hereditary titles, of 
perhaps no very remote antiquity or honourable 
origin. 

On this privation of the light of human reason do 
the felicities of a worldly life most frequently de- 
pend. From this dark source spring the inordinate 
pride of the imperious noble, and the no less un- 
bounded ambition of the simple mechanic. Hence 
arise the disdain of some, the haughtiness of others, 
and the folly of all. 

To men of dissipated minds, who dread the pain- 
ful intrusion of rational sentiment, these numerous 
and noisy places of public resort appear like temples 
dedicated, to their idol, Pleasure. He who seeks 
happiness on the couch of indolence ; who expends 
all the activity of his mind, all the energies of his 
heart, upon trifling objects; who suffers vain and 
frivolous pursuits to absorb his time, to engage his 
attention, to lock up all the functions of his soul ; 
cannot patiently endure the idea of being for one mo- 



Id ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

merit by himself. Direful condition ! Is there then 
no occupation whatever, no useful employment, no 
rational recreation sufficiently high and dignified for 
such a character ? Is he reduced to the melancholy 
condition of not being able to perform one good and 
virtuous action during the intervals of suspended 
pleasure ? Can he render no services to friendship, 
to his country, to himself ? Are there no poor and 
miserable beings, to whose bosoms he might afford 
a charitable comfort and relief? Is it, in short, im- 
possible for such a character to become, in any way, 
more wise or virtuous than he was before ? 

The powers of the human soul are more extensive 
than they are in general imagined to be ; and he who, 
urged by inclination, or compelled by necessity, most 
frequently exerts them, will soon find that/the high- 
est felicities, of which our nature is capable, reside 
entirely within ourselves. I The wants of life are, for 
the greater part, merely artificial; and although 
sensual objects most efficaciously contribute to our 
pleasure and content, it is not because the enjoy- 
ment of them is absolutely necessary, but because 
they have been rendered desirable by habit. The 
gratifications they afford easily persuade us, that the 
possession of them is essential to happiness; but if 
we had fortitude to resist their charms, and courage 
to look within our own bosoms for that felicity 
which we so anxiously hope to derive from others, 
we should frequently find a much greater variety of 
resources there, than all the objects of sense are 
capable of affording. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. i? 

Men of superficial minds may indeed derive some 
amusement from assemblies, to which the company 
in general resort merely to see and to be seen : but 
how many women of fashion expire in such assem- 
blies under all the mortification of disappointed 
vanity ! How many neglected wits sullenly retire 
into some obscure corner of the room ! The mind, 
on entering the circles of the great and gay, is apt 
to flatter itself too highly with hopes of applause ; 
to expect with too much anxiety the promised plea- 
sure. Wit, coquetry, sensuality, it is true, are, at 
these meetings, frequently exercised with consider- 
able success. Every candidate displays his talents 
to the best advantage ; and those who are the least 
informed frequently gain the reputation of shining- 
characters. Amidst these scenes, however, the eye 
may occasionally be gratified by the sight of objects 
really agreeable ; the ear may listen to observations 
truly flattering. Lively thoughts and sensible re- 
marks now and then prevail. Characters equally 
amiable and interesting occasionally mix among the 
group. We may form acquaintance with men of 
distinguished merit, whom we should not otherwise 
have had an opportunity of knowing ; and meet with 
women of estimable qualities and irreproachable con- 
duct, whose refined conversation ravishes the mind 
with the same delight that their exquisite beauty 
captivates the heart. 

But by what a number of painful sensations must 
the chance of receiving these pleasures be purchased ? 
Those who are restrained either by silent sorrow, a 



18 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

secret discontent, or a rational disposition, from mix- 
ing in the common dissipations of life, cannot see 
without a sigh the gay conceit, the airy confidence, 
the blind arrogance, and the bold loquacity, with 
which these votaries of worldly pleasures proclaim a 
felicity, that leads them, almost inevitably, to their 
ruin. It is, indeed, irresistibly laughable to observe 
the excessive joy of so many men in place, the absurd 
airs of so many old dowagers, the presumptuous and 
ridiculous fopperies of so many hoary-headed chil- 
dren 5 but who, alas ! is there, that will not grow 
tired even of the pleasantest comedy, by seeing it too 
frequently ? He, therefore, who has often been an 
eye-witness of these scenes, who has often yawned 
with fatigue in these temples of pleasure, and is 
convinced that they exhibit rather the illusion and 
appearance than the substance and reality of it, be- 
comes dejected in the midst of all their joys, and 
hastily retires to domestic privacy, to taste of plea- 
sures in which there is no deceit ; pleasures which 
leave neither disquietude nor dissatisfaction behind 
them. 

An invitation to the board of Luxury, where Dis- 
ease with leaden sceptre is known to preside, where 
painful truths are blurted in the ears of those who 
hoped they were concealed, where reproach and ca- 
lumny fall without discrimination on the best and 
worst of characters, in the estimation of the world, 
conceived to confer the highest honour, and the 
greatest pleasure. But he, who feels the divine 
energies of the soul, turns with abhorrence from 



ZIMMERMAKN ON SOLITUDE. 19 

societies which tend to diminish or impair their 
operations. To him the simplest fare with freedom 
and content, in the bosoms of an affectionate family, 
is ten thousand times more agreeable than the rarest 
dainty, and the richest wine, with a society where 
form imposes a silent attention to the loquacity of 
some vain wit, whose lips utter nothing but fatiguing 
nonsense. 

True social pleasure is founded on unlimited 
confidence, congeniality of sentiment, and mutual 
esteem. The spiritless and crowded societies of the 
world, wdiere a round of low and little pleasures fills 
the hour of entertainment, and the highest gratifica- 
tion is to display a pomp of dress and levity of be- 
haviour, may perhaps afford a glimpse of joy to light 
and thoughtless minds, eagerly impatient to remove 
the weight which every vacant hour accumulates. 
But men of reason and reflection, instead of sensible 
conversation or rational amusement, find only a dull 
unvaried jargon, a tiresome round of compliments, 
and turn with aversion from these temples of delight, 
or resort to them with coldness, dissatisfaction or 
disgust. 

How tiresome do all the pleasures of the world 
appear, when compared with the happiness of a 
faithful, tender, and enlightened friendship ! How 
joyfully do we shake off the shackles of society for 
that high and intimate connection of the soul, where 
our inclinations are free, our feelings genuine, our 
sentiment unbiassed 3 where a mutual confidence of 
thoughts and actions, of pleasures and of pains un- 



20 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

interruptedly prevails; where the heart is led by 
Joy along the path of Virtue, and the mind con- 
ducted by Happiness into the bowers of Truth: 
where every thought is anticipated before it escapes 
from the iips ; where advice, consolation, succour, 
are reciprocally given and received in all the ac- 
cidents and misfortunes of life. The soul, thus 
animated by the charm of friendship, springs from 
its sloth, and views the irradiating beams of Hope 
breaking on its repose. Casting a retrospective eye 
on the time that has past, the happy pair mutually 
exclaim with the tenderest emotions, " Oh ! what 
pleasures have we not already experienced, what 
joys have we not already felt ! " If the tear of afflic- 
tion steal down the cheek of the one, the other, with 
affection, wipes it tenderly away. The deepest sor- 
rows of the one are felt with equal poignancy by the 
other; but what sorrow can resist the consolation 
which flows from an intercourse of hearts so tenderly, 
so intimately, so closely, united. Day after day they 
communicate to each other all that they have seen, 
all that they have heard, all that they feel, and every 
thing they know. Time flies before them on his 
swiftest pinions. The ear is never tired of the gra- 
tification of listening to each other's conversation. 
The only misfortune, of which they have any fear, is 
the greatest they can possibly experience, the mis- 
fortune of being separated by occasional absence or 
by death. 

Possessed of such refined felicity, it must not be 
attributed to austerity of character, or incivility of 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 21 

manners, but to a venial error of imagination, if the 
intercourses of ordinary minds no longer charm us ; 
if we become insensible to their indifference, and 
careless of their aversion ; if in consequence of the 
superiority of our joys we no longer mix in the noisy 
pleasures of the world, and shun all society which 
has numbers only for its recommendation. 

But the lot of human bliss is transitory. Often- 
times, alas ! while we think our happiness certain 
and secure, an unforeseen and sudden blow strikes, 
even in our very arms, the object of our delight. 
Pleasure then appears to be for ever extinguished ; 
the surrounding objects seem desert and forlorn; 
and every thing we behold excites emotions of terror 
and dismay. The arms of fondness are in vain ex- 
tended to embrace the friend that is no more ; in 
vain the voice of tenderness articulates the beloved 
name. The step, the well known step, seems sud- 
denly to strike upon our listening ear; but reflection 
interposes, and the fancied sounds are heard no 
more : all is hush, still, and lifeless : the very sense 
of our existence is almost dead. A dreary solitude 
appears around us : and every perception of the 
mind is lost in the benumbing sorrows of the heart. 
The spirits wearied and dejected, we think affection 
is no more, and imagine that we are no longer ca- 
pable of loving, or of being beloved ; and to a heart 
that has once tasted the sympathies of love, life with- 
out affection is worse than death. The unfortunate 
being, who is thus affected, inclines therefore to live 
in Solitude, and die alone. A transition so sudden , 



22 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

from the highest happiness to the deepest misery, 
overpowers the mind; no kind friend appears to 
assuage his sufferings, or seems inclined to afford 
him consolation, or to form an adequate idea of his 
distress : and indeed true it is, that the pangs which 
such a loss inflicts cannot be conceived, unless they 
have been felt. 

Solitude under such circumstances enjoys its 
highest triumph : it is here that all its advantages 
may be fully experienced ; for when wisely applied, 
it will give immediate ease to the most rancorous 
wound that sorrow ever made, and, in the end, effect 
a cure. 

The wounds of affliction however admit only of 
a slow and gradual remedy. The art of living alone 
requires a long initiation, is subject to a variety of 
accidents, and depends materially upon situations 
suitable to each particular character: the mind, 
therefore, must have attained a full maturity, before 
any considerable advantage can be expected from it. 
But he who has acquired sufficient vigour to break 
the galling chains of prejudice, and from his earliest 
youth has felt esteem and fondness for the pleasures 
of retirement, will not be at a loss to know when he 
is prepared to try the remedy. From the moment 
he perceives himself indifferent to the objects which 
surround him, and that the gaieties of public society 
have lost their charms, he will then rely on the 
powers of his soul, and never be less alone than in 
the company of himself. 

Men of genius are frequently condemned to a 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 23 

toil as unsuited to the temper of their minds, as a 
nauseous medicine is disagreeable to an empty sto- 
mach. Confined to some dry and disgusting subject, 
fixed to a particular spot, and harassed by the in- 
extricable and impending yoke, in which they are 
enthralled, they relinquish all idea of tranquillity on 
this side the grave. Deprived of engaging in the 
common pleasures of life, every object which the 
world presents to their view increases their disgust 
It is not for them, they exclaim, that the youthful 
zephyrs call forth the budding foliage with their 
caressing breath ; that the feathered rhoir chaunt in 
enlivening strains their rural songs; that odoriferous 
flowers deck the gay bosom of the verdant meads- 
Leave these complainants however to themselves, 
give them only liberty and leisure, and the native 
enthusiasm of their minds will soon regenerate, and 
soar into the highest region with the bold wing and 
penetrating eye of the bird of Jove. 

If Solitude be capable of dissipating griefs of this 
complexion, what effect will it not produce on the 
minds of men who have the opportunity of retiring 
at pleasure to its friendly shades, for those true en- 
joyments, a pure air and domestic felicity ! When 
Antisthenes was asked what services he had received 
*rom philosophy ; he answered, " It has taught me 
to subdue myself." Pope says, that he never laid his 
head upon his pillow without reflecting, that the 
most important lesson of life was to learn the art 
of being happy within himself. It seems to me tha* 
ill those who are capable of living contentedly at 



24 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

home, and being pleased with every object around 
them, even to the dog and the cat, have found what 
Pope looked for. 

Those pleasures and dissipations, which are 
sought after with so much eagerness and anxiety, 
have, in truth, the effect of producing the most se- 
rious reflection on our minds when we commune 
with ourselves. It is then that we learn whether the 
true felicity of life consists in the possession of those 
external objects which we have no power either to 
alter or reform, or in a due and proper regulation of 
ourselves. It is then that we begin to perceive how 
false and faithless those flattering illusions prove, 
which seem to promise us such variety of happiness. 
A lady, possessed of youth and beauty, wrote to me 
one evening on returning from a celebrated ridotto, 
" You observed with what gaiety and content I quit- 
ted the scene. Believe me, I felt a void so painful 
in my breast at the sight of those factitious joys, 
that I could willingly have torn the flowery decora- 
tions from my dress." 

The pleasures of the world are vain and worth- 
less, unless, they render the heart more happy in 
itself, and tend to increase our domestic felicity. On 
the contrary, every species of misfortune, however 
accumulated, may be borne by those who possess 
tranquillity at home, who are capable of enjoying the 
privacy of study, and the elegant recreation which 
books afford. Whoever is possessed of this resource 
has made considerable advances towards happiness ; 
for happiness does not exact more from us than an 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 25 

inclination to regulate the affections of the heart, 
and a disposition to control the passions of the mind. 
A celebrated philosopher, however, has with great 
judgment observed, that there is both pride and 
falsehood in pretending that man alone is capable of 
effecting his own happiness. But we are most cer- 
tainly capable of modifying the natural dispositions 
of our souls, of forming our tastes, of varying our 
sentiments, of directing our inclinations, of subduing 
even the passions themselves ; and we are then not 
only less sensible of all the wants of life, but feel 
even satisfaction under circumstances which to others 
would appear intolerable. Health is, without'doubt, 
one of the most essential ingredients to happiness 5 
and yet there are circumstances under which even 
the privation of it may be accompanied with tran- 
quillity. How many times have I returned thanks 
to the great Disposer of human events, when indis- 
position has confined me at home, and enabled me to 
invigorate the weakened functions of my soul in 
quietude and silence! a happiness that receded in 
proportion as convalescence advanced. Obliged to 
drag through the streets of the metropolis day after 
day during a number of years; feeble in constitu- 
tion ; weak in limbs ; susceptible, on feeling the 
smallest cold, to the same sensation as if knives were 
separating the flesh from the bone ; continually sur- 
rounded in the course of my profession with the most 
afflicting sorrov, s ; it is not surprising that I should 
feel a gratitude for those pleasures which confine- 
ment by indisposition procured. 



%6 ZJMMEBMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

A physician, if he possess sensibility, must, in 
his employment to relieve the sufferings of others, 
frequently forget his own. But alas ! when sum- 
moned and obliged to attend, whatever pain of body 
or of mind he may endure, on maladies which are 
perhaps beyond the reach of his art, how much 
oftener must his own sufferings be increased by those 
which he sees others feel ! The anxiety which such 
a scene imposes distracts the mind, and raises every 
painful feeling of the heart. Under such circum- 
stances, an incapacitating disease, however excru- 
ciating, is to me a soft repose, and the confinement 
it occasions a pleasing solitude; provided peevish 
friends do not intrude, and politely disturb me with 
their fatiguing visits. In these moments I pray 
Heaven to bestow its blessings on those who neglect 
to overwhelm me with their idle conversation, and, 
with the kindest compassion, forget to disturb me by 
enquiries after my health. If amidst all my pain I 
can remain a single day quietly at home, and em- 
ploy my mind on literary subjects, undisturbed by 
visitors, I receive more real pleasure than our women 
of quality and men of fashion ever felt from all their 
feastings and entertainments. 

The suspension from labour which Solitude affords 
is in itself a considerable advantage: for to men 
whose duties depend on the necessities or caprice of 
the public, from whom indefatigable activity is ex- 
acted, and who unavoidably pass their days in con- 
tinual anxieties, a temporary relief is in effect trans- 
cendant felicity. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 27 

At every period of life, whether during the 
strength of youth or the imbecility of age, the 
power of employing the mind in some useful or 
agreeable occupation banishes the dread of solitude. 

Soured by disappointment, we should endeavour 
to divert the mind by pursuing some fixed and pleas- 
ing course of study. To read without deriving some 
advantage is impossible, provided we mark with a 
pen or pencil the new ideas that may occur, and 
retain the observations by which our own ideas are 
illustrated and confirmed ; for reading, unless we 
apply the information it affords either to our own 
characters or to those of other men, is useless and 
fatiguing : but this habit is easily acquired, and then, 
books become a safe and certain antidote to lassitude 
and discontent. Painful and unpleasant ideas vanish 
from the mind that is capable of firmly fixing its 
attention on any particular subject. 

The sight of a noble and interesting object, the 
study of an useful science, a picture in which the 
various revolutions of society are historically dis- 
played, and the progress made in any particular art, 
agreeably rivet the attention, and banish sorrow 
from the mind. 

Pleasures of this description, it is certain, greatly 
transcend all those which administer merely to the 
senses. I am aware that, in speaking of the plea- 
sures of the mind, sublime meditation, the profound 
deductions of reason, and the brilliant effusions of 
fancy, are in general understood ; but there are also 
others, for the perfect enjoyment of which neither 



23 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

extensive knowledge nor extraordinary talents are 
necessary. These are the pleasures which result 
from active labour ; pleasures that are equally within 
the reach of the vulgar clown and refined philoso- 
pher, and no less exquisite than those which result 
solely from the mind : manual exertions, therefore, 
ought never to be despised. I am acquainted with 
gentlemen who are instructed in the mechanism of 
their own watches ; who are able to work as painters, 
locksmiths, carpenters ; and who are not only fur- 
nished with almost all the tools proper to every 
branch of trade, but know also how to use them; 
such characters never feel the least disquietude from 
the want of society, and are in consequence the hap- 
piest of men. 

The recreation which the study of any art or 
science affords, depends in a great measure on the 
labour it requires. But when a certain point of per- 
fection is once attained, the mind receives pleasure 
in proportion to its exertions, and being satisfied 
with itself, is proof against the attack of moral evils. 
To conquer difficulties is to promote our pleasures ; 
and every time our efforts are crowned with that 
success which promises completion to our desires, 
the soul, tranquil and contented within itself, seeks 
for no higher pleasure. 

The bosoms of those who are free, easy, affec- 
tionate, contented with themselves, and pleased with 
those about them, are ever open to new delights. 
Ah! how much preferable, therefore, is the hap- 
piness which a country life affords, to that deceitful 



ZIMMERMANN on solitude, 29 

felicity which is affected in the courts of princes, 
and in the brilliant circles of the great and gay I a 
truth severely felt by men of worldly pleasure, and 
confessed by the restlessness and languor of which 
they frequently complain : complaints unknown 
among the vallies of the Alps, or upon those 
mountains where innocence yet dwells, and which 
no visitor ever quitted without the tribute of a tear. 
The fatal poison which lurks beneath the man- 
ners of luxurious cities can only be avoided by re^ 
nouncing the insipid life in which the inhabitants 
are engaged. Virtuous actions convey tranquillity 
to the soul ! and a joy equally calm and permanent 
accompanies the man into the closest recesses of 
retirement, whose mind is fixed upon discharging 
the duties of humanity. With what delight also do 
we dwell upon the recital of our school adventures, 
the wanton tricks of our youth. The history of the 
early periods of our lives, the remembrance of our 
plays and pastimes, of the little pains and puerile 
wishes of our infancy, always recall to our minds 
the most agreeable ideas ! Ah ! with what compla- 
cent smiles, with what soft regret a venerable old 
man turns his eyes upon the happy gera when the in- 
carnation of youth animated all his joys, when he 
entered into every enterprize with vigour, vivacity, 
and courage, when he sought difficulties only to dis- 
play his powers in subduing them. 

Let us contrast the character we formerly bore 
with that which we at present possess ; or, giving a 
freer range to our ideas, let us reflect upon the va- 
rious events of which we have been witnesses, upon 



30 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

n 

the means by which empires have been established 
and destroyed, upon the rapid progress which the 
arts and sciences have made within our own remem- 
brance, upon the advancement of truth and the 
retreat of prejudice, upon the ascendancy which 
ignorance and superstition still maintain, notwith- 
standing the sublime efforts of philosophy to sup- 
press them, upon the bright irradiations of intellect, 
and the moral depravation of the heart, and the 
clouds of languor will immediately disappear, and 
restore our minds to tranquillity and peace. 

The high feliciy and variety of delight, so supe- 
rior to the gratifications of sense, which Solitude 
affords to every reflecting mind, are capable of being 
relished at every period of our lives ; in the last de- 
cay of age as well as in the earliest prime of youth. 
He who to a vigorous constitution, a free spirit, an 
easy temper, has added the advantages of a cultivated 
understanding, will here experience, while his heart 
continues pure and his mind innocent, the highest 
and most unalterable pleasure. The love of exercise 
animates all the faculties of the soul, and increases 
the energies of nature. Employment is the first 
desire of every active mind. It is the silent con- 
sciousness of the superiority of our nature, of the 
force of our intellectual powers, of the high dignity 
of our character, which inspire great souls with that 
noble ardour which carries them to the true sublime. 
Constrained by the duties of their situation to mix 
in the intercourses of society; obliged to submit, in 
spite of their inclination, to the frivolous and fatigu- 
ing dissipations of the world, it is by withdrawing 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 3l 

from these tumultuous scenes to the silence of me- 
ditation, that men become sensible of the divine 
effervescence of their souls, feel a wish to break their 
chains, to escape from the servility of pleasure, and 
from all the noisy and tumultuous joys in which they 
are engaged. We never feel with higher energy and 
satisfaction, with greater comfort and cordiality, 
that we live, think, are reasonable beings, that we 
are self-active, free, capable of the most sublime ex- 
ertions, and partaking of immortality, than in those 
moments when we shut the door against the intru- 
sions of impertinence and fashion. 

Few things are more vexatious and insupportable 
than those tasteless visits, those annoying partialities, 
by which a life of lazy opulence and wanton pleasure 
is occupied. " My thoughts," says Rousseau, ei will 
only come when they please, and not when I choose." 
The intrusion of a stranger therefore, or even the 
visit of an acquaintance by whom he was not in- 
timately known was always dreadful to him. It was 
for this reason alone that this extraordinary cha- 
racter, who seldom experienced an hour of tranquil- 
lity, felt such petulant indignation against the 
importunate civilities, and empty compliments of 
common conversation, while he enjoyed the rational 
intercourse of sensible and well-informed minds with 
the highest delight.* 

* ' " I never could endure," says Rousseau, "the empty 
and unmeaning compliments of common conversation ; but 
from conversations useful or ingenious, I have always felt 
the highest pleasure, and have never refused to partake of 
them." 



32 2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

The dignity of the human character, alas ! soon 
becomes debased by associating with low and little 
minds. How many rays of thought, precious rays t 
emanating immediately from the Deity upon the 
mind of man, are extinguished by the noxious va- 
pours of stagnated life I But it is meditation and 
reflection that must give them birth, elevate them to 
the heights of genius, make them subsistent with the 
nature of the human mind, and suit them to the 
spirit of the human character. 

Virtues to which the soul cannot raise itself, even 
in the most amiable of all societies, are frequently 
produced by solitude. Separated by distance from 
our friends, we feel ourselves deprived of the com- 
pany of those who are dearest to our hearts ; and to 
relieve the dreary void, we aspire to the most sub' 
lime efforts, and adopt the boldest resolutions. On 
the contrary, while we are under the protecting care 
of friendship and of love, while their kind offices 
supply all our wants, and their affectionate embraces 
lock us eternally in their arms, we forget, in the 
blandishments of such a state, almost the faculty of 
self-motion, lose sight of the powers of acting from 
ourselves, and seldom reflect that we may be reduced 
to the necessity of supporting ourselves under the 
adversities of life. To guard against this event, 
therefore, it is proper, by retiring into Solitude, to 
try the strength of our own powers, and learn to rely 
upon them. The faculties of the soul, weakened by 
the storms of life, then acquire new vigour, fix the 
steady eye of fortitude on the frowns of adversity, 
and learn to elude the threatening rocks on which 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 33 

the happiness of vulgar minds is so frequently 
wrecked. He who devotes his days to Solitude, 
finds resources within himself of which he had no 
idea, while philosophy inspires him with courage to 
sustain the most rigorous shocks of fate. 

The disposition of man becomes more firm, his 
opinions more determined and correct, when, urged 
by the tumults of life, he reflects, in the quietude of 
his heart, on his own nature and the manners of the 
world. The constitution of a versatile and undecided 
character proceeds entirely from that intellectual 
weakness, which prevents the mind from thinking 
for itself. Such characters consult upon every occa- 
sion the oracle of public opinion, so infallible in 
their ideas, before they know what they ought to 
think, or in what manner their judgment should be 
formed, or their conduct regulated. 

Weak minds always conceive it most safe to adopt 
the sentiments of the multitude. They never ven- 
ture to form an opinion upon any subject until the 
majority have decided. These decisions, whether 
upon men or things, they implicitly follow, without 
giving themselves the trouble to enquire who is 
right, or on which side truth preponderates. A 
spirit of truth and love of equity, indeed, are only to 
be expected from those who are fearless of living 
alone. Men of dissipated minds never protect the 
weak, or avenge the oppressed. Are the various and 
powerful hosts of fools and knaves your enemies ? 
Are you injured in your property by injustice, or in 
your fame by calumny ? You must not hope for re- 

C3 



3-i ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

dress from light characters, or for vindication from 
men of dissipated lives; for they only repeat the 
voice of error, and propagate the fallacies of pre- 
judice. 

To live in Solitude, to feel ourselves alone, only 
inspires fear, inasmuch as it contributes to extin- 
guish one corporeal power by giving birth to an- 
other. The powers of the mind, on the contrary, 
augment in proportion as they become more con- 
centrated, when no person is united to us, or ready 
to afford protection. Solitude is necessary to be 
sought by those who wish to live undisturbed, to 
mitigate the poignancy of painful impressions, to 
render the mind superior to the accidents of life, or 
to gain sufficient intrepidity to oppose the danger of 
adversity. How smoothly flows the stream of life 
when we have no anxiety to enquire "Who did 
this?" "Who said that?" How many miserable 
prejudices, and still more contemptible passions, has 
one serious reflection subdued ! How quickly, in 
such a situation, that slavish, shameful, and idol- 
atrous veneration for every unworthy object dis- 
appears ! With what noble spirit the votary of 
Solitude fearlessly disdains those characters, who 
conceive that high birth and illustrious descent con- 
fer a privilege to tyrannize over inferior men, to 
whom they frequently afford so many reasons for 
contempt ! 

An ingenious and celebrated observer of men and 
things informs us, it is in leisure and retirement 
alone that the soul exalts itself into a sublime 



ZiMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE* 35 

superiority over the accidents of life, becomes in- 
different to the good or evil it may experience, the 
praise or censure it may receive, the life it may 
enjoy, or even the death it may suffer. It is in So-- 
litude alone that those noble and refined ideas, those 
profound principles, and unerring axioms, which 
form and support every great character, are de- 
veloped. Even philosophy itself, continues this ex- 
cellent philosopher, in his observations upon Cicero, 
and those deep theories upon which the sublime 
conduct of the statesman is founded, and which 
enable him to perform with excellence the important 
duties with which he is charged, are formed in the 
silence of Solitude, in some distant retirement from 
the great theatre of the world. 

As Solitude, therefore, not only gives firmness to 
the characters and propriety to the sentiments of 
men, but leads the mind to a true degree of eleva- 
tion, so likewise there is no other situation in which 
Ave so soon acquire the important knowledge of our- 
selves. 

Retirement connects us more closely with our 
own bosoms ; for we there live in habits of the 
strictest intimacy only with ourselves. It is cer- 
tainly possible for men to be deliberate and wise 
even amidst all the tumultuous folly of the world, 
especially if their principles be well fixed before they 
enter on the stage of life ; but it is much more diffi. 
cult to preserve an integrity of conduct amidst the 
corruptions of society than in the simplicity of Soli- 
tude. How many men please only by their faults, 



36 ZIMMBRMANN ON SOLITUIJE. 

and recommend themselves only by their vices? 
How many profligate villains and unprincipled ad- 
venturers, of insinuating- manners, are well received 
by society, only because they have learnt the art of 
administering- to the follies, the weaknesses, the 
vices of those who lead the fashion. How is it pos- 
sible that the mind, intoxicated with the fumes of 
that incense which Flattery burns to its honour, 
should be capable of knowing- or appreciating the 
characters of men. But on the contrary, in the 
silence and tranquillity of retirement, whether we be 
led by inclination to the study of ourselves, awakened 
to reflection by a sense of misery, or compelled to 
think seriously on our situation, and to examine the 
inward complexion of the heart, we discern what we 
are, and learn from conviction what we ought to be. 
How many new and useful discoveries may be 
made by occasionally forcing ourselves from the vor- 
tex of the world to the calm enjoyments of study 
and reflection ! To accomplish this end, it is only 
necessary to commune seriously with our hearts, and 
to examine our conduct with candour and impar- 
tiality. The man of worldly pleasure, indeed, has 
reason to shun this self-examination, conscious that 
the result of the enquiry would be extremely unfa- 
vourable : for he who only judges of himself by the 
flattering opinion which others have been pleased to 
express of his character, will, in such a scrutiny, 
behold with surprize, that he is the miserable slave 
of fashion, habit, and public opinion ; submitting 
with laborious diligence, and the utmost possible 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 37 

grace, to the exactions of politeness, and the authori- 
tative demands of established ceremony; never ven- 
turing to contradict the imperious voice of fashion, 
however senseless and absurd its dictates may appear ; 
obsequiously following the example of others, giving 
credit to every thing they say, doing every thing they 
do, and not daring to condemn those pursuits which 
every one seems so highly to approve. If such a 
character possess a degree of candour, he will not 
only perceive, but acknowledge, that an infinite 
number of his daily thoughts and actions are inspired 
by a base fear of himself, or arise from a servile com- 
plaisance to others ; that in the company of princes 
and statesmen he only seeks to flatter their vanities, 
and indulge their caprices ; that by his devotion to 
politeness, he submits to become the minister of 
their vices, rather than offer them the smallest con- 
tradiction, or hazard an opinion that is likely to 
give them the least displeasure. Whoever with calm 
consideration views this terrifying picture, will feel, 
in the silent emotions of his heart, the necessity of 
occasionally retiring into Solitude, and seeking so- 
ciety with men of nobler sentiments and purer 
principles. 

The violent alternatives of pleasure and pain, of 
hope and fear, of content and mortification, inces- 
santly torment the mind that has not courage to 
contemn the objects of sense. The virtues fly from 
the heart that yields to every momentary impression, 
and obeys the impulse of every feeling. The virtues 
disdain to dwell in the bosoms of those who, follow- 



38 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

ing the example of the times, are guided in all their 
actions by sinister motives, and directed to every end 
by the mean consideration of self-interest either im- 
mediate or remote. But even to those in whose 
bosoms the virtues love to dwell, it is necessary to 
retire into Solitude from the daily dangers of the 
world, and silently estimate the true value of things, 
and the real merit of human actions, in order to give 
them dignity and effect. The mind, debased by the 
corruptions of the world, has no idea of relinquish- 
ing the prospect of present benefit, and making a 
noble sacrifice of glory and of fortune. No action is 
there appreciated by its intrinsic merit ; on the con- 
trary, every calculation is made upon the vile notion 
of lucre, and the garb of virtue only assumed as a 
means of snatching some poor advantage, of obtain- 
ing some paltry honour, or of gaining an undeserved 
good name. The visit of a worldly-minded man to 
those who, from their power and superiority, might, 
if they were equally base and contemptible, prejudice 
his interests, consists of servility, flattery, lying, 
calumny, and cringing ; and he departs only to act 
new scenes of baseness elsewhere. 

Man discovers with deeper penetration the extent 
and nature of the passions by which he is swayed, 
when he reflects on their power in the calmness and 
silence of Solitude, where the soul, being less fre- 
quently suspended between hope and fear, acts with 
greater freedom. How virtuous, alas ! do we all 
become under the pressure of calamity ! How sub- 
missive, how indulgent, how kind is man, when the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 39 

finger of God chastises his frailties, by rendering his 
hopes delusive, and his schemes abortive ; when the 
Almighty Power humbles human pride, converts his 
wisdom into folly, his profoundest counsels into 
manifest and striking instances of madness ? At 
such a moment the caresses of a child, the most 
distant civility from inferiors, afford the highest 
comfort. In Solitude this melancholy scene soon 
changes ; misfortune wears a different aspect ; sen- 
sibility becomes less acute • the sufferings of the 
mind decrease ; and the soul, rising from its dejec- 
tion, acquires a knowledge of its faculties, becomes 
indifferent to every external object, and, feeling the 
extent of its powers, discovers its superiority over all 
those circumstances which before gave alarm to fear 
and weakness. 

Sheltered in the retreats of Solitude from the 
extremes of fortune, and less exposed to the intoxica- 
tion of success, or the depression of disappointment, 
life glides easily along like the shadow of a passing 
cloud. Adversity needs not here intrude to teach us 
how insignificant we are in the eyes of God, how 
helpless without his assistance, how much our un- 
checked pride poisons the happiness of life, torments 
the heart, and becomes the endless and increasing 
source of human misery; for in the calm regions of 
retirement, undisturbed by treacherous fondness or 
groundless hate, if even hope should disappear, and 
every comfort vanish from our view, we are still ca- 
pable of submitting to the stroke of fate with patience 
and resignation. 



40 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE* 

Let every one, therefore, who wishes to think 
with dignity or live with ease, seek the retreats of 
Solitude, and enter into a friendly intercourse with 
his own heart. How small a portion of true philo- 
sophy, with an enlightened understanding, will ren- 
der us humble and compliant ! But, in the mists of 
prejudice, dazzled by the intellectual glimmer of 
false lights, every one mistakes the true path, and 
seeks for happiness in the shades of darkness and in 
the labyrinths of obscurity. The habits of retire- 
ment and tranquillity can alone enable us to make a 
just estimate of men and things, and it is by renounc- 
ing all the prepossessions which the corruptions of 
society have implanted in the mind, that we make 
the first advances towards the restoration of reason, 
and the attainment of felicity. 

Solitude will afford us this advantage, if, when 
we are there alone before God, and far retired from 
the observation of men, the silent language of con- 
science shew to us the imperfection of our characters, 
and the difficulties we have yet to surmount before 
we can attain the excellence of which our nature is 
capable. In society men mutually deceive each 
other : they make a parade of learning, affect sen- 
timents which they do not possess, dazzle the ob- 
server by borrowed rays, and in the end mislead 
themselves by the illusions which they raise. But 
in Solitude, far removed from the guile of flattery 
and falsehood, accompanied by truth and followed 
by virtue, the mind enters into a close acquaintance 
with itself, forms its judgments with accuracy, and 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 41 

feels the inestimable value of sincerity and single- 
ness of heart : and these qualities can never prove 
injurious in the retreats of Solitude ; for moral ex- 
cellence is not there an object of either ridicule or 
contempt. There the mind compares the false ap- 
pearances of the world with the reality of things, 
and finds that the advantages which they seemed to 
promise, and the specious virtues which they only 
appeared to possess, vanish like an airy vapour. 
The pride of human wit, the false conclusions of 
reason, the absurdities of vanity, and the weaknesses 
of the heart, all the ostentations of self-love, all that 
is imperfect in our fairest virtues, in our sublimest 
conceptions, in our most generous actions, are de- 
lineated in Solitude to the eye of impartiality by the 
pencil of truth. Is it possible to acquire so perfect 
a knowledge of ourselves in the world, amidst the 
bustle of business, and among the increasing dangers 
of public life ? 

To subdue those dangerous passions and inclina- 
tions which please while they corrupt the heart, it is 
necessary to divert the attention, and to attach our- 
selves to different pursuits; but it is in Solitude 
only that these salutary pursuits are to be found ; it 
is here alone that new sentiments and new ideas 
continually arise, and, from inexhaustible resources, 
instil themselves into the mind with irresistible force 
and energy. Solitude, even to the idle, will miti- 
gate the intemperance of desire; but to the active it 
will afford complete victory over all the most irregu 
lar inclinations of the heart. 



42 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Snatched from the illusions of society, from the 
snares of the world, and placed in the security of 
retirement, we view every object in its true form, as 
well under the distractions of misfortune, as in the 
pangs of sickness and the anguish of death ; the 
vanity of those wishes which external objects have 
excited appear in full view, and we discover the 
necessity of curbing extravagance of thought and 
licentiousness of desire. The deceitful veil of false 
appearance is removed ; and he who in the world 
was raised as much above others as by his faults and 
vices he ought to have sunk beneath them, perceives 
those imperfections which flattery had concealed, and 
which a crowd of miserable slaves had the baseness 
and the cowardice to praise and justify. 

To acquire durable pleasures and true felicity, it 
is necessary to adopt that judicious and rational 
philosophy which considers life in a serious point of 
view, counts enjoyments which neither time nor acci- 
dent can destroy, and looks with an eye of pity on 
the stupid vulgar, agitating their minds and tor- 
menting their hearts in splendid miseries and child- 
ish conversations. Those, however, on the contrary, 
who have no knowledge of their own hearts, who 
have no habits of reflection, no means of employ- 
ment, who have not persevered in virtue, and are 
unable to listen to the voice of reason, have nothing 
to hope from Solitude; their joys are all annihilated, 
when the blood has lost its warmth and the senses 
their force; the most trifling inconvenience, the 
least reverse of fortune, fills them with the deepest 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 43 

distress; their hearts beat to the terrors of an 
alarmed imagination, and their minds fall under the 
tortures of unwarranted despair. 

We have hitherto only pointed out one portion 
of the general advantages of Solitude 5 there are, 
however, many others which touch men more nearly. 
Ah ! who has not experienced its kind influence in 
the adversities of life ? Who has not in the moment 
of convalescence, in the hour of melancholy, in the 
age when separation or death has deprived the 
heart of the intercourses of friendship, sought relief 
under its salutary shades ? Happy is the being who 
is sensible of the advantages of a religious retirement 
from the world, of a sacred tranquillity, where all 
the benefits to be derived from society impress them- 
selves more deeply in the heart, where every hour 
is consecrated to the practice of the pure and peace- 
ful virtues, and in which every man, when he is on 
the bed of death, wishes he had lived ! But these 
advantages become much more conspicuous, when 
we compare the modes of thought which employ the 
mind of a solitary philosopher with those of a worldly 
sensualist ; the tiresome and tumultuous life of the 
one with the ease and tranquillity of the other ; when 
we oppose the horrors which disturb the death-bed of 
the worldly-minded man with the peaceful exit of 
those pious souls who submit with resignation to the 
will of Heaven. It is at this awful moment that we 
feel how important it is, if we would bear the suffer- 
ings of life with dignity and the pains of death with 
ease, to turn the eye inwardly upon ourselves, and 
to hold a religious communion with our Creator. 



44 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Solitude affords incontestible advantages under 
the greatest adversities of life. The sick, the sor- 
rowful, and the fastidious, here find equal relief; it 
administers a balm to their tortured souls, heals the 
deep and painful wounds they have received, and in 
time restores them to their pristine health and 
vigour. 

Sickness and affliction would flee with horror from 
the retreats of Solitude, if their friendly shades did 
not afford a consolation not to be obtained in the 
temples of worldly pleasure. In the hour of sick- 
ness, the subtle vapours which the flame of sensuality 
sheds round a state of health entirely disappears ; and 
all those charms which subsist rather in imagination 
than in reality lose their power. To the happy, every 
object wears the delightful colours of the rose ; but 
to the miserable all is black and dreadful. Both 
these descriptions of men run into equal extremes, 
and do not discover the errors into which they are 
betrayed, until the moment when the curtain drops, 
until the scene is changed, and the illusion dissipated. 
But when the imagination is silenced, they awaken 
from the dream ; then the one perceives that God 
employs his attention in the preservation of his crea- 
tures, even when he sees them the most abandoned 
and profligate ; and the others, when they seriously 
commune with themselves, and reflect upon their 
situation and the means of attaining true happiness, 
discover the vanity of those pleasures and amuse- 
ments to which they surrendered the most important 
period of their lives. 

How unhappy should we be if the Divine Provi- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 45 

dence were to grant us every thing we desire ! Even 
under the afflictions by which man conceives all the 
happiness of his life annihilated, God perhaps pur- 
poses something extraordinary in his favour. New 
circumstances excite new exertions. A life passed 
in [mental and moral inactivity will, in Solitude, ex- 
perience a sudden change ; for the mind, by ear- 
nestly endeavouring to conquer misfortune, fre- 
quently receives new life and vigour, even when it 
seems condemned to eternal inactivity and oblivion. 
But there are still greater advantages; if sorrow 
force us into Solitude, patience and perseverance 
soon restore the soul to its natural tranquillity and 
joy. We ought never to read in the volume of fu- 
turity ; we shall only deceive ourselves : on the con- 
trary, we ought for ever to repeat this experimental 
truth, this consolatory maxim, That the objects, 
which men behold at a distance with fear and trem- 
bling, lose, on a nearer approach, not only their dis- 
agreeable and menacing aspect, but frequently, in 
the event, produce the most agreeable and unex- 
pected pleasures. He who tries every expedient, 
who boldly opposes himself to every difficulty, who 
stands steady and inflexible to every obstacle, who 
neglects no exertion within his power, and relies 
with confidence upon the assistance of God, extracts 
from affliction both its poison and its sting, and 
deprives misfortune of its victory. 

Sorrow, misfortune, and sickness, soon reconcile 
us to Solitude. How readily we renounce the world, 
feow indifferent we become to all its pleasures, when 



46 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 

the insidious eloquence of the passions is silenced, 
when we are distracted by pain, oppressed by grief, 
and deserted by all our powers ! Under such cir- 
cumstances, we immediately perceive the weakness 
and instability of those succours which the world 
affords 5 where pain is mixed with every joy, and 
vanity reigns throughout. How many useful truths, 
alas ! does sickness teach even to kings and ministers, 
who while in health suffer themselves to be deluded 
and imposed upon by all mankind ! 

The opportunity which a valetudinarian enjoys of 
employing his faculties with facility and success, in 
a manner conformable to the extent of his designs, 
is undoubtedly short, and passes rapidly away. Such 
happiness is the lot only of those who enjoy robust 
health ; they alone can exclaim, i( Time is my own :" 
but he who labours under continual sickness and 
suffering, and whose avocations depend on the public 
necessity or caprice, can never say that he has one 
moment to himself. He must watch the fleeting 
hours as they pass, and seize an interval of leisure 
when and where he can. Necessity as well as reason 
convinces him, that he must, in spite of his daily 
sufferings, his wearied body, or his harassed mind, 
firmly resist his accumulating troubles ; and, if he 
would save himself from becoming the victim of de- 
jection, he must manfully combat the difficulties by 
which he is attacked. The more we enervate our- 
selves, the more we become the prey of ill health -, 
but determined courage and obstinate resistance fre- 
quently renovate our powers ; and he who, in the 



ZIMMEUMANN ON SOLITUDE. 47 

calm of Solitude, vigorously wrestles with misfortune, 
is certain, in the event, of gaining a victory. 

The pains of sickness, are apt too easily to listen 
to the voice of indulgence ; we neglect to exercise 
the powers we possess ; and instead of directing the 
attention to those objects which may divert distrac- 
tion and strengthen fortitude, we foster fondly in 
our bosoms all the disagreeable circumstances of our 
situation. The soul sinks from inquietude to inquie- 
tude, loses all its powers, abandons its remaining 
reason, and feels, from its increasing agonies and 
sufferings, no confidence in its own exertions. The 
valetudinarian should force his mind to forget its 
troubles ; should endeavour to emerge from the 
heavy atmosphere by which he is enveloped and 
depressed. From such exertions he will certainly 
find immediate relief, and be able to accomplish that 
which before he conceived impossible. For this pur- 
pose, however, he must first dismiss the physicians 
who daily visit him to ascertain the state of his 
health ; who feel his pulse with a ludicrous gravity, 
seriously shake their heads, and perform many other 
affected, ridiculous, and accustomed tricks : but who, 
from their great attention to discover what does not 
exist, frequently overlook those symptoms that are 
most plainly to be seen. These pretenders to science 
only alarm the patient, rivet more closely in his 
mind those apprehensions which it would be ser- 
viceable to him to forget, and redouble his sufferings 
by the beneficial ideas of danger, which they raise 
from the most trifling and immaterial circumstances 



28 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of his disorder. He must also forbid his friends, and 
all those who surround him to humour his weak- 
nesses ; he must request they will not rely upon all he 
says; for if his sensations be real, his own imagina- 
tion will form a sufficient variety of gloomy phan- 
toms and terrifying chimaeras. 

Under situations still more difficult to support, 
there yet remain resources and consolations in the 
bosom of Solitude. Are the nerves damaged ? Is 
the head tortured by vertigoes? Has the mind no 
longer any power to think, the eye to read, the hand 
to write ? Has it become physically impossible to 
exercise any of the functions of the soul ? In such 
a situation we must learn " to vegetate/' said one of 
the most enlightened philosophers of Germany, when 
he beheld me at Hanover, in a condition which ren- 
dered me incapable of adopting any other resource. 
O Garve ! with what rapture I threw myself into 
your arms ! with what transports I heard you speak, 
when you shewed me the necessity of learning to 
support myself under my accumulated calamities, 
by convincing me that you had experienced equal 
sufferings, and had been able to practise the lessons 
which you taught! 

The sublime Mendelssohn, during a certain pe- 
riod of his life, was frequently obliged to retire, 
when discoursing on philosophical subjects, to avoid 
the danger of fainting. In these moments it was his 
custom to neglect all study, to banish thought en- 
tirely from his mind. His physician one day asked 
him, " How then do you employ your time, if you 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 49 

do not think V — " I retire to the window of my 
chamber, and count the tiles upon the roof of my 
neighbour's house." 

Without thy tranquil wisdom, O my beloved Men- 
delssohn? without thy resignation to the will of 
Heaven, we can never reach that elevated grandeur of 
character, can never attain to that dignified endu- 
rance of our sufferings, can never possess that stoic 
fortitude, which places human happiness beyond the 
reacli of misery, and out of the power of fate. Thy 
great example pours consolation into the heart ; and 
humanity should behold with grateful joy the supe- 
riority which resignation affords to us, even under 
the severest of physical misfortunes. 

A slight effort to obtain the faintest ray of com- 
fort, and a calm resignation under inevitable mis- 
fortunes, will mutually contribute to procure relief. 
The man whose mind adheres to virtue will never 
permit himself to be so far overcome by the sense 
of misfortune, as not to endeavour to vanquish his 
feelings, even when extreme despair obscures every 
prospect of comfort or consolation. The most de- 
jected bosom may endure sensations deeply afflicting, 
provided the mind will endeavour, by adopting sen- 
timents of virtue, generosity, and heroic greatness, 
to prevent the soul from brooding over its sorrows. 
To this end also it is necessary to cultivate a fond- 
ness for activity, and to force exertion until the 
desire of employment becomes habitual. A regular 
employment is, in my opinion, the surest and most 
efficacious antidote to that lassitude, acerbity, and 



50 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

dejection, which wounded spirits and nervous affec- 
tions are apt to produce. 

The influence of the mind upon the body is a 
truth highly useful and consolatory to those who are 
subject to constitutional complaints. Supported by 
this idea, reason is never entirely subdued ; religion 
maintains its empire in the breast ; and the lament- 
able truth, that men of the finest sensibilities and 
most cultivated understandings, frequently possess 
less fortitude under afflictions than the most vulgar 
of mankind, remains unknown. Campanella, incre- 
dible as it may seem, by gloomy reflections inflicted 
torments on his mind more painful than even those 
of the rack could have produced. I can, however, 
from my own experience, assert, that even in the 
extremity of distress every object which diverts the 
attention softens the evils we endure, and frequently 
drives them, unperceived, away. 

By diverting the attention, many celebrated phi- 
losophers have been able not only to preserve a 
tranquil mind in the midst of the most poignant suf- 
ferings, but have even increased the strength of their 
intellectual faculties in spite of their corporeal pains. 
Rousseau composed the greater part of his immortal 
works under the continual pressure of sickness and 
of grief. Gellert, who by his mild, agreeable, and 
instructive writings, has become the preceptor of 
Germany, certainly found in this interesting occu- 
pation the surest remedy against melancholy. Men- 
delssohn, at an age far advanced in life, and not na- 
turally subject to dejection, was for a long time op- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 51 

pressed by an almost inconceivable derangement of 
the nervous system ! but by submitting" with patience 
and docility to his sufferings, he still maintains all 
the noble and sublime advantages of his youth. Garve, 
who had lived whole years without being able to 
read, to write, or to think, afterwards composed his 
Treatise on Cicero ; and in that work, this profound 
writer, so circumspect in all his expressions, that he 
would have been sensibly affected if any word too 
emphatic had dropped from his pen, with a species 
of enthusiasm returns thanks to Almighty God for 
the imbecility of his constitution, because it had 
convinced him of the extensive influence which the 
powers of the mind possess over those of the body. 

A firm resolution, and always keeping some noble 
and interesting end steadily in view, will enable us 
to endure the most poignant affliction. In all great 
and imminent dangers, nature inspires the breast with 
heroic courage; and even in the little crosses of life, 
it is a quality much often er found than patience : but 
perseverance under evils of long duration is rarely 
seen, especially when the soul, enervated by its sor- 
rows, abandons itself to its most ordinary refuge, 
despair, and looks up to Heaven alone for protection. 

Of all the calamities of life, therefore, melan- 
choly is the most severe ; and of all the remedies 
against it, there is none more efficacious than regular, 
uninterrupted employment. The moment we make 
it a rule never to be idle, and to bear our sufferings 
with patience, the anguish of the soul abates. A 
fondness for activity, and an endeavour to repel in- 



?>2 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

cumbent misery by moderate but continued efforts, 
inspire the mind with new powers ; a small victory 
leads to a greater ; and the joy which success in- 
spires immediately banishes the idea of endless sor- 
row. When the efforts of reason and virtue no longer 
produce a salutary effect, the mind should be diverted 
to some pleasing, unimportant object, which may 
rather engage its attention than exercise its powers ; 
for the slightest exertion will frequently subdue the 
severest sorrow. The shades of melancholy disap- 
pear the moment any object interests the mind. Even 
that supineness, apathy, and deep despair, which re- 
ject all advice and consolation, are oftentimes, alas ! 
nothing more than a disguised indulgence of vexation 
and ill-humour. This is, however, a real malady of 
the mind, which it is impossible to conquer but by a 
firm and constant perseverance. 

To men who possess a sensibility too refined, an 
imagination too ardent, to mix with comfort in the 
society of the world, and who are continually com- 
plaining of men and things, Solitude is not only de- 
sirable, but absolutely necessary. He who suffers 
himself to be afflicted by that which scarcely excites 
an emotion in the breasts of other men ; who com- 
plains of those misfortunes as severe, which others 
scarcely feel ; whose mind falls into despair, unless 
his happiness be instantly restored, and his wants 
immediately satisfied ; who suffers unceasing tor- 
ments from the illusions of his fancy ; who feels 
himself unhappy only because prosperity does not 
anticipate his wishes ; who murmurs against the bles- 



2TMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 53 

sings he receives, because he is ignorant of his real 
wants ; who flies from one amusement to another ; 
who is alarmed at every thing, and enjoys nothing : 
he, alas ! is not formed for society ; and if Solitude 
has not power to heal his wounded spirit, the earth 
certainly contains no remedy to cure him. 

Men who, in other respects, possess rational 
minds, feeling hearts, and pious dispositions, fre- 
quently fall into low spirits and despair ; but it is 
almost entirely their own fault. If it proceed, as is 
generally the case, from unfounded fears ; if they 
love to torment themselves and others upon every 
slight inconvenience, upon the smallest derangement 
of their health ; if they constantly resort to medicine 
for that relief which reason alone can afford -, if they 
will not endeavour to repress the wanderings of their 
fancies ; if, after having supported the acutest pains 
with patience, and blunted the greatest misfortunes 
by fortitude, they neither can nor will learn to bear 
the puncture of the smallest pin, to endure the light- 
est accidents of mortal life ; they ought only to 
complain of the want of courage in themselves ; such 
characters, who by a single effort of the understand- 
ing might look with an eye of composure and tran- 
quillity on the multiplied and fatal fires issuing from 
the dreadful cannon's mouth, fall under the appre- 
hension of being fired at by pop-guns. 

Firmness, resolution, and all those qualities of the 
soul which form a stoic heroism of character, are 
much sooner acquired by a quiet communion with 
the heart, than in the noisy intercourses of mankind, 



54 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

where innumerable difficulties continually oppose us ; 
where ceremony, servility, flattery, and fear, not 
only obstruct the exertions of the mind, but destroy 
its powers ; and where, for this reason, men of the 
weakest minds and most contracted notions become 
more active and popular, gain more attention, and 
are better received, than men of feeling hearts and 
liberal understandings. 

The mind fortifies itself with impregnable strength 
under the shades of Solitude against sufferings and 
affliction. In retirement, the frivolous attachments 
which steal away the soul, and drive it wandering, 
as chance may direct, into a dreary void, die away. 
Renouncing a multiplicity of enjoyments, from an 
experience of how few we want, we soon gain so 
complete a knowledge of ourselves, that we are not 
surprised when the Almighty chastises us with afflic- 
tion, humbles our proud spirits, disappoints our vain 
conceits, restrains the violence of our passions, and 
brings us back to a lively sense of our inanity and 
weakness. How many important truths do we here 
learn, of which the worldly-minded man has no idea,* 
truths which the torrent of vanity overwhelmed in his 
dissipated soul ! Casting the calm eye of reflection 
on ourselves, and on the objects which surround us, 
how familiarized we become to the lot of mortality ! 
how different every tiling appears ! the heart expands 
to every noble sentiment ; the blush of conscience 
reddens on the cheek ; the mind reaches its subliinest 
conceptions ; and boldly taking the path of virtue, 
we lead a life of innocence and ease. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 55 

The unfortunate being who deplores the death of 
some beloved friend, constantly feels a strong desire 
to withdraw from the intercourses of society ; but 
his worldly friends unite to destroy the laudable in- 
clination. They avoid all conversation with the 
unhappy sufferer on the subject of his loss ; think it 
more consolatory to surround him with a crowd of 
acquaintance, cold and indifferent to the event, who 
think their duties sufficiently discharged by paying 
the tributary visit, and chattering from morning till 
evening on the current topics of the town ; as if each 
of their pleasantries conveyed a balm of comfort into 
the wounded heart. 

" Leave me to myself!'' I exclaimed a thousand 
times, when, within two years after my arrival in 
Germany, I lost the lovely idol of my heart, the 
amiable companion of my former days. Her departed 
spirit still hovers round me : the tender recollection 
of her society, the afflieting remembrance of her 
sufferings on my account, are always present to my 
mind. What purity and innocence ! what mildness 
and affability ! Her death was as calm and resigned 
as her life was pure and virtuous 1 During five long 
months the lingering pangs of dissolution hung con- 
tinually around her. One day, as she reclined upon 
her pillow, while I read to her " The Death of 
Christ," by Rammler, she cast her eyes over the page, 
and silently pointed out to me the following passage : 
" My breath grows weak, my days are shortened, 
my heart is full of affliction, and my soul prepares 
to take its flight." Alas ! when I recall all those 



56 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 



circumstances to my mind, and recollect how im- 
possible it was for me to abandon the world at that 
moment of anguish and distress, when I carried the 
seeds of death within my bosom, when I had neither 
fortitude to bear my afflictions, nor courage to resist 
them, while I was yet pursued by malice and outraged 
by calumny, I can easily conceive, in such a situation, 
that my exclamation might be, " Leave me to my- 
self!" 

To be alone, far retired from the tumults and 
embarrassments of society, is the first and fondest 
desire of the heart, when, under such misfortunes, 
we are unhappily situated among men, who, incapa- 
ble of equal feeling, have no idea of the torments we 
endure. 

How ! to live in Solitude, to relinquish the so- 
ciety of men, to be buried during life in some wild 
deserted country ! Oh yes ! such a retreat affords a 
tender and certain consolation under those afflictions 
which fasten on the heart ; such as the eternal sepa- 
ration of sensible and beloved friends ; a separation 
more grievous and terrifying than the fatal period 
itself which terminates existence. The heart is torn 
with anguish, the very ground we tread on seems to 
sink beneath our feet, when this horrible and hidden 
event divides us from those who had for so long a 
period been all in all to us in life, whose memory 
neither time nor accident can wipe away, and whose 
absence renders all the pleasures of the world odious 
to our sight. Solitude, under such circumstances, is 
our only resource ; but to soften the grief which this 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 57 

eternal separation inflicts, to remove the sorrows 
which prey upon the poor heart, to wipe away the 
tears from the cheeks, we must, even in Solitude, 
continue to employ the mind, to excite its attention 
to something interesting, and lead the imagination 
from one object to another. 

How many torments, alas ! lie concealed from 
the observation of the world, which we must learn to 
bear within our own bosoms, and which can only be 
softened by Solitude and retirement ! 

Represent to yourself an unfortunate foreigner 
placed in a country where every one was suspicious 
of his character, borne down by misfortunes from 
every side, attacked every moment by despair, and 
during a long course of years unable either to stoop 
or sit to write without feeling the most excruciating 
pains ; in a country where, from a fanatic prejudice, 
every one strewed thorns and briars in his path,- 
where, in the midst of all his afflictions, he was de- 
prived of the object which was dearest to him in the 
world : yet it was in such a country, and under these 
circumstances, that he, at length, found a person who 
extended the hand of affection towards him ;* whose 
voice, like a voice from Heaven, said to him, " Come, 
I will dry your tears, I will heal your wounded heart ; 
be the kind comforter of your sufferings, enable you 
to support them, banish the remembrance of sorrow 

* The author here alludes to Madame Dorine, wife of 
the councellor of state, and daughter to the celebrated vice- 
chancellor Strube, 

D 3 



58 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

from your mind, recall your sensibility, and force 
you to acknowledge that the religion we profess is 
also inspired by a beneficent Deity, whose goodness 
strews flowers over the paths of life. You shall 
afterwards afford assistance to me, become part of 
my family, and we will read, think, feel, and lift up 
our hands together in oraisons to God. I will en- 
deavour to charm away the silence of disgust by 
entertaining conversation, and when tranquillity 
returns, collect for you all the flowers which adorn 
the paths of life; discourse with you on the charms 
of virtue 5 think of you with love ; treat you with 
esteem 5 rely upon you with confidence : prove to 
you, that the people among whom you are situated 
are not so bad as you conceive them, and perhaps 
that they are not so at all. I will remove from your 
mind all anxiety about domestic concerns ; do every 
thing to relieve and please you ; you shall taste all 
the happiness of an easy, tranquil life. I will dili- 
gently endeavour to point out your faults, and you, 
in gratitude, shall also correct mine : you shall form 
my mind, communicate to me your knowledge, and 
preserve to me, by the assistance of God and your 
own talents, the felicities of my life, together with 
those of my husband and my children: we will love 
our neighbours with the same heart, and unite our 
endeavours to afford consolation to the afflicted, and 
succour to the distressed." 

But if, after having experienced all this pleasure 
during many years ; if, after having enjoyed these 
consolatioris under circumstances the most critical 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 5Q 

and cruel ; if, after flattering myself that her friendly 
hands would close my dying eye-lids, that I should 
expire in the arms of this heroic female; if, for only 
obeying" the divine impulse of commiseration, my 
protectress should be torn for ever from the bosom 
of her family, and obliged to leave her country in 
exile in a foreign land ; if I should behold myself 
for ever deprived of this dear friend, this protecting 
angel, what comfort would remain for me on the 
face of the earth ! Thus abandoned and forlorn, to 
what asylum could I fly ? To Solitude alone I There 
I might combat my rising griefs, and learn to support 
my destiny with courage. 

To a heart thus torn by too rigorous a destiny, 
from the bosom that was open for its reception, from 
a bosom in which it fondly dwelt, from an object that 
it dearly loved, detached from every object, at a loss 
where to fix its affection, or communicate its feelings, 
Solitude alone can administer comfort. To him 
who, in the cruel hour of separation, exclaims in the 
bitterness of his soul, " In every exertion to do good, 
my only reward is to give you pleasure; all the 
happiness of my life concentres in the joys that you 
receive !" Solitude is the last and only consolation. 

There are, therefore, situations from which no- 
thing but Solitude and retirement can relieve us. 
For this reason, it is frequently necessary that those 
whom melancholy affects should be lefc alone : for, 
as we shall now proceed to shew, they may find in 
Solitude an infinite variety of consolations, and many 
sources of comfort, both for the mind and the heart. 



CO ZIMMSRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

The healthy and the sick, the happy and the 
miserable, the rich and the poor, all, without excep- 
tion, may find infinite advantages in a religious 
retirement from the world. It is not, alas ! in the 
temples of pleasure, in those meetings where every 
one empties to its last drop the cup of folly, in the 
coteries/ occupied by vulgar gaiety, in brilliant assem- 
blies, or at luxurious boards, that the mind grows 
familiar with those tender and sublime sentiments 
which subdue the desires of sensuality, ennoble all 
the enjoyments of life, raise the passing moment 
into importance, by connecting it with the events of 
futurity, and banish from a transitory life the extra- 
vagant fondness for the dissipations of the world. 

In Solitude we behold more near and intimately 
that Providence which overlooks all. Silence con- 
tinually recalls to our minds the consolatory idea, 
the mild and satisfactory sentiment, that the eye of 
the Almighty is for ever viewing the actions of his 
creatures ; that he superintends all our movements ; 
that we are governed by his power, and preserved 
by his goodness. In Solitude the Deity is every 
where before us. Emancipated from the dangerous 
fermentations of sense, guided by noble inclinations, 
possessed of pure, unalterable joys, we contemplate 
with seriousness and vigour, with freedom and with 
confidence, the attainment of supreme felicity, and 
enjoy in thought the happiness we expect to reach. 
In this holy meditation, every ignoble sentiment, 
every painful anxiety, every worldly thought and 
vulgar care, vanish from the mind. 



25IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 6 1 

Solitude lias already brought us nearer to God, 
when, beside all the tender and humane feelings of 
the heart, we feel those salutary sensations which a 
distrust and jealousy of our own abilities create; 
sensations which in public life make light and tran- 
sient impressions, and fade immediately away. At 
the bed of sickness when I behold the efforts which 
the soul makes to oppose its impending dissolution 
from the body, and discover by the encreasing tor- 
tures the rapid advances of approaching death ; when 
T see my unhappy patient extend his culd and trem- 
bling hands to thank the Almighty for the smallest 
mitigation of his pains ; when I hear his utterance 
checked by intermingled groans, and view the tender 
looks, the silent anguish of his attending friends ; 
all my powers abandon me ; my heart bleeds, and I 
tear myself from the sorrowful scene, only to pour 
my tears more freely over the unhappy sufferings of 
humanity, to lament my own inability, and the vain 
confidence placed in a feeble art ; a confidence which 
men have been so forward to abuse. Conscious of the 
inefficacy of art, I never rise from my bed, without 
thinking it a heavenly miracle that I am still alive. 
When I count the number of my years, I exclaim, with 
the liveliest gratitude, that God has preserved my life 
beyond my expectation. Through what a sea of 
dangers has his goodness conducted me ! Reflecting 
every moment on the weakness of my condition, and 
beholding men suddenly snatched away before me in 
the prime and vigour of life ; men who but a few 
hours before, entertained no fear of death, and reck- 



62 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

oned, perhaps, on an extended length of days ; what 
can I do, but offer up my silent adorations to that 
Providence who has thus saved me from the menaces 
of death ! 

Is it possible to become wise, and escape from 
the abounding- perils of the world without renounc- 
ing its dissipations, and entering into a serious ex- 
amination of ourselves ? for then only it is that we 
are able maturely to reflect upon what we hear and 
see 5 it is only during silent meditation that we can 
properly view those interesting objects to which, if 
we wish to render them either useful or permanent, 
we cannot be too seriously attentive. 

Wisdom is not to be acquired by the incessant 
pursuit of entertainments ; by flying, without reflec- 
tion, from one party to another ; by continual con- 
versations on low and trifling subjects; by under- 
taking every thing, and doing nothing. "He who 
would acquire true wisdom," says a celebrated phi- 
losopher, " must learn to live in Solitude." An un- 
interrupted course of dissipation stifles every virtuous 
sentiment. The dominion of Reason is lost amidst 
the intoxications of Pleasure : its voice is no longer 
heard ; its authority no longer obeyed : the mind no 
longer strives to surmount tempations ; but, instead 
of shunning the snares which the passions scatter in 
our way, we run eagerly to find them. The precepts 
of religion are forgotten. Engaged in a variety of 
absurd pursuits, intranced in the delirium of gaiety 
and pleasure, inflamed by that continual ebriety which 
raises the passions and stimulates the desires, the 



ZJMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 63 

connections between God and man are loosened, the 
first and only source of true felicity abandoned, the 
faculty of reason renounced, and religious duties 
never thought of but with levity and indifference. 
On the contrary, he who, entering into a serious self- 
examination, elevates his thoughts on all occasions 
in silence towards his God ; who considers the am- 
phitheatre of nature, the spangled firmament of Hea- 
ven, the verdant meads enamelled with flowers, the 
stupendous mountains, and the silent grove, as the 
temples of the divinity ; who directs the emotions of 
his heart to the Great Author and Conductor of 
things ; who has continually before his eyes his 
enlightened providence ; must most assuredly have 
already learned to live in pious Solitude and religious 
meditation. 

Thus, by devoting daily only as many hours to 
reflection as are employed at the toilet, or consumed 
at the card-table, Solitude may be rendered instru- 
mental in leading the mind to piety, and the heart to 
virtue. Meditation not only strengthens and im- 
proves the mind, but teaches it to abhor the vices 
of the world, and renders their idle entertainments 
tasteless. We may cherish the best intentions towards 
our fellow-creatures, may succour them in distress, 
afford them every kind oifice in our power, without 
indulging in the luxury of their feasts, attending 
their coteries, or following their frivolous pursuits. 

The opportunity of doing public good, of per- 
forming actions of extensive utility, or universal 
benevolence, is confined to a few characters. But 



64 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 

how many private virtues are there which every man 
has it in his power to perform without quitting his 
chamber ! He who can contentedly employ himself at 
home may continue there the whole year, and yet in 
everyday of that year, may contribute to the felicity of 
other men ; he may listen to their complaints, relieve 
their distress, render services to those who are about 
him, and extend his benevolence in various ways, 
without being seen by the world, or known by those 
on whom his favours are conferred. 

A lively and determined inclination for Solitude 
is sometimes the happy mean of re-establishing a 
pious disposition in the mind. It is during those 
moments of undefinable delirium which youth fre- 
quently experience ; and which as the mind grows 
more rational, of course become more efficacious ; 
that, by perceiving what we are and what we ought 
to be, we begin to know ourselves, and to do justice 
to our characters. It is in these moments, perhaps, 
that a physical change of constitution turns the 
operations of the soul into a new direction, and 
awakening conscience, forcibly suggests the necessity 
of prostrating ourselves before the throne of God. — 
Humility is the first lesson which we learn from re- 
flection, and self-distrust the first proof we give of 
having obtained a knowledge of ourselves. The so- 
phistry of the passions is silent during the serious 
solitary hours we pass in self-examination. If we 
sometimes carry the soliloquy too far, and become 
gloomy and discontented, or fall into superstitious 
phrensies on discovering our situation, the impres- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 65 

sions, alas ! are soon effaced. Yet even these ex- 
cesses, when compared with that fatal supineness 
which extinguishes every virtue, are really advanta- 
geous. The sincere mortification we feel on the 
discovery of our defects is converted, by the light of 
a pure and rational faith, into happy ease and perfect 
tranquillity. The fanatic enthusiast presents him- 
self before the Almighty much oftener than the 
supercilious wit, who scoffs at religion, and calls 
piety a weakness. 

The study of ourselves is so extremely rare, 
that we ought to prize its fruits like dear and 
precious treasures. To induce us to renounce our 
flighty futile dissipations ; to conquer the discon- 
tent which drives us wandering from place to place 
in search of new objects,- to force us into an exa- 
mination of ourselves -, Grief must awaken us from 
the lethargy of Pleasure, Sorrow must open our 
eyes to the follies of the world, and the cup of Ad- 
versity often embitter our lips. From a conviction 
of this truth it was that one of the greatest philoso- 
phers of Germany, the celebrated Mr. Garve, ex- 
claimed to Doctor Spalding and myself, " I am in- 
debted to my malady for having led me to make a 
closer scrutiny and more accurate observation of my 
own character." 

In Solitude, Religion and Philosophy unite their 
powers to conduct us to the same end. Both of them 
teach us to examine our hearts ; both of them tell 
us that we cannot guard too seriously against the 
dangers of fanaticism, or decry them with too loud a 



66 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

voice ; but they also convince us, that though virtue 
cannot be instilled into the soul without convulsive 
efforts, we ought not to be intimidated by the appre- 
hension of danger. It is not in the moment of joy, 
when we turn our eyes from God and our thoughts 
from eternity, that we experience these salutary 
fervors of the soul. Even Religion, with all her 
powers, cannot produce them so soon as a corporeal 
malady or mental affliction. But if the soul advance 
too slowly in the heroic course of virtue ; if, amidst 
the bustle of the world, the suggestions of conscience 
lose their power, let every one retire, as frequently 
as possible, into Solitude, and there prostrate himself 
before God and his own heart. 

In the last moments of life it is certain that we 
all wish we had lived more in Solitude, in a greater 
intimacy with ourselves, and in a closer communion 
with God. Pressed by the recollection of past errors, 
we then clearly perceive them to have sprung from 
the corruptions of the world, and the indulged wan- 
derings of the heart. If we oppose the sentiments 
of a solitary man who has passed his life in pious con- 
ference with God, to those which occupy a worldly 
mind forgetful of its Creator, and sacrificing every 
thing to the enjoyment of the moment: if we com- 
pare the character of a wise man, who reflects in 
silence on the importance of eternity, with that of 
the fashionable being, who consumes all his time at 
ridottos, balls, and assemblies ; we shall then per- 
ceive that Solitude, dignified retirement, select friend- 
ships, and rational society, can alone afford true plea- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 67 

sure, and give us, what all the vain enjoyments of the 
world will never bestow, consolation in death, and 
hope of everlasting life. 

It is upon the bed of death that we discover, 
more than in any other situation, the great difference 
between the just man, who has passed his days in re- 
ligious contemplation, and the man of the world, 
whose thoughts have only been employed to feed his 
passions and gratify his desires. A life passed amidst 
the tumultuous dissipations of the world, even when 
unsullied by the commission of any positive crime, 
concludes, alas ! very differently from that which has 
been spent in the bowers of Solitude, adorned by in- 
nocence and rewarded by virtue. 

But as example teaches more effectually than 
precept, as curiosity is more alive to recent facts than 
to remote illustrations, I shall here relate the history 
of a man of family and fashion, who a few years since 
shot himself in London ; from which it will appear, 
that men possessed even of the best feelings of the 
heart may be rendered extremely miserable by suf- 
fering their principles to be corrupted, by the prac- 
tice of the world 

The honourable Mr. Darner, the eldest son of 
Lord Milton, was five-and-thirty years of age when 
he put a period to his existence by means perfectly 
correspondent to the principles in which he had 
lived. He had espoused a rich heiress, the daughter- 
in-law of General Conway. Nature had endowed 
him with extraordinary talents ; and if he had em- 
ployed them to nobler purposes, his death must have 



68 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

made the deepest impression on every bosom. Un* 
happily, however, the most infatuated love of dissi- 
pation destroyed all the powers of his mind, and some 
of the more excellent qualities of his heart. His 
houses, his carriages, his horses, his liveries, sur- 
passed in magnificence and elegance every thing that 
is sumptuous in the metropolis of England. The in- 
come he enjoyed was great ; but not being sufficient 
to defray his various expences, he felt himself under 
the necessity of borrowing, and he obtained a loan 
of one hundred and twenty thousand pounds. A 
large portion of the money was immediately em* 
ployed to succour those friends who appeared to be 
distressed ; for his sentiments were as generous as 
his feelings were tender and compassionate. His 
sensibility, however, to the wants of others was at 
length awakened to his own misfortunes ; and the 
dreadful situation of his affairs reduced his mind to 
despair. Retiring to a brothel, he sent for four com- 
mon women of the town, and passed several hours 
in their company with apparent gaiety and good spi- 
rits. On the near approach of midnight, however, 
he requested of them to retire ; and in a few moments 
afterwards, drawing a loaded pistol from his pocket, 
which he had carried about with him all the after- 
noon, blew out his brains. This fatal evening had 
passed with these women in the same manner as he 
had been used to pass many others with different 
women of the same description, without requiring 
favours which they would most willingly have 
granted. All he desired in return for the money he 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 6g 

lavished on them was their idle chatter, or the privi- 
lege of a salute, to divert the torture of his mind. 
The gratitude he felt for the temporary oblivion, 
which these intercourses afforded, sometimes ripened 
into feelings of the warmest friendship. A cele- 
brated actress of the London theatre, whose conver- 
sations had already drained him of considerable sums 
of money, requested of him, only three days before 
his death, to lend her hve-and-twenty guineas. He 
returned an answer, that he had not at that time more 
than eight or ten guineas about him, and these he 
sent to her ; but he immediately borrowed the re- 
mainder, and gave her the sum she required. 

This unhappy young man, shortly before the fatal 
catastrophe, had written to his father, and disclosed 
the unhappy state of his affairs ; and the night, the 
very night on which he terminated his existence, his 
affectionate parent, the good Lord Milton, arrived in 
London for the purpose of discharging all the debts 
of his son. Thus lived and died this destitute and 
di&sipated man ! How different from that life which 
the innocent live, or that death which the virtuous 
die! 

I trust I shall be forgiven in reciting here the 
story of a young lady whose memory I am anxious to 
preserve j for I can with great truth say of her, as 
Petrarch said of his beloved Laura, " the world is 
unacquainted with the excellence of her character ; 
she was only known to those whom she has left be- 
hind to bewail her fate/' 

Solitude was her world ; for she knew no other 



70 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

pleasures than those which a retired and virtuous 
life affords. Submitting with pious resignation to 
the dispensations of heaven, her weak frame sustained 
with undiminished fortitude, every affliction of mor- 
tality. Mild, good, and tender, she endured her 
sufferings without a murmur or a sigh : and though 
naturally timid and reserved, she disclosed the feel- 
ings of her soul with all the warmth of filial enthu- 
siasm. Of this description was the superior character 
of whom I now write ; a character who convinced 
me, by her fortitude under the severest misfortunes, 
how much strength solitude is capable of conveying 
to the minds even of the feeblest beings. Diffident 
of her own powers, she listened to the precepts of a 
fond parent, and relied with perfect confidence upon 
the goodness of God. Taught by my experience, 
submitting to my judgment, she entertained for me 
the most ardent affection ; and convinced me, not by 
professions, but by her actions, of her sincerity. 
Willingly would I have sacrificed my life to have 
saved her; and I am satisfied she would have given 
up her own for me. My greatest happiness consisted 
in doing every thing that I thought the most agree- 
able to her. She frequently presented me with a 
rose, a flower from which she knew I received consi- 
derable delight ; and from her hand it was superior 
to the richest treasure. A malady of almost a singu- 
lar kind, a haemorrhage of the lungs, suddenly de- 
prived me of the comfort of this beloved child, even 
while I supported her in my arms. Acquainted 
with her constitution, I immediately saw the blow 



ZIMME11MANN ON SOLITUDE. 71 

was mortal. How frequently, during that fatal day, 
did my wounded bleeding heart bend me od my 
knees before my God to implore her recovery ! But 
I concealed my feelings from her observation. Al- 
though sensible of her danger, she never communi- 
cated the least apprehension. Smiles arose upon 
her cheeks whenever I entered or quitted the chamber. 
Although worn down by this fatal distemper, a prey 
to the most corroding griefs, the sharpest and most in- 
tolerable pains, she made no complaint. She mildly 
answered all my questions by some short sentence, 
but without entering into any detail. Her decay and 
approaching dissolution became obvious to the eye ; 
but to the last moment of her life, her countenance 
preserved a serenity correspondent to the purity of 
her mind and the affectionate tenderness of her 
heart. 

Thus I beheld my dear, my only daughter, after 
a lingering sufferance of nine long months, expire in 
my arms ! Exclusive of the internal appearances which 
attend a consumption of the lungs, the liver was ex- 
tremely large, the stomach uncommonly small and 
contracted, and the viscera much overcharged. So 
many attacks, alas ! were needless to the conquest. 
She had been the submissive victim of ill health 
from her earliest infancy ; her appetite was almost 
gone when we left Swisserland ; a residence which 
she quitted with her usual sweetness of temper, and 
without discovering the smallest regret, although a 
young man, as handsome in his person as he was 
amiable in the qualities of his mind, the object of her 



72 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

first, of her only affection, a few weeks afterwards 
put an end to his existence in despair. 

The few happy days we passed at Hanover, where 
she was much respected and beloved, she amused 
herself by composing' religious prayers, which were 
afterwards found among her papers, and in which 
she implores death to afford her a speedy relief from 
her pains : during the same period she wrote also 
many letters, always affecting, and frequently sub- 
lime. They were filled with expressions of the same 
desire speedily to reunite her soul with the author of 
her days. The last words my dear, my well-be- 
loved child uttered, amidst the most painful agonies, 
were these : £ To-day I shall taste the joys of Hea- 
ven I" 

We should be unworthy of this bright example, 
if, after having seen the severest sufferings sustained 
by a female in the earliest period of life, and of the 
weakest constitution by nature, we permitted our 
minds to be dejected by misfortunes, when, by the 
smallest degree of courage, we may be enabled to 
surmount them; a female w r ho, under the anguish of 
inexpressible torments, never permitted the sigh of 
complaint to escape from her lips ; but submitted 
with silent resignation to the will of Heaven, in hope 
of meeting with reward hereafter. She was ever 
active, invariably mild, and always compassionate to 
the miseries of others. But we, who have before our 
eyes the sublime instructions which a character thus 
virtuous and noble has given us, under the pressure 
of a fatal disease, under the horrors of continued 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 73 

and bitter agonies ; we, who like her aspire to the 
attainment of the glorious seat of happiness and 
peace, refuse to submit to the smallest sacrifice, 
make no endeavour to oppose the storms of fortune 
by the exertion of courage, or to acquire that patience 
and resignation which a candid examination of our 
own hearts, and a silent communion with God, would 
certainly afford. 

Sensible and unfortunate beings ! the lightest 
afflictions, when compared with griefs like mine, 
drive you, at present, to disquietude and despair. 
But you may give credit to experience, they will 
eventually raise your minds above the low consider- 
ations of the world, and give a strength to your 
powers which you now conceive to be impossible. 
You now think yourselves sunk into the deepest abyss 
of suffering and sorrow; but the time will soon 
arrive, when you will perceive yourselves in that 
happy state which lies between an attachment to 
Earth and a fond devotion to Heaven. You will 
then enjoy a calm repose, be susceptible of plea- 
sures equally substantial and sublime, and gain, 
instead of tumultuous anxieties for life, the serene 
and comfortable hope of immortality. Blessed, 
supremely blessed, is he who knows the value 
of retirement and tranquillity; who is capable 
of enjoying the silence of the groves, and all the 
pleasures of rural Solitude. The soul then tastes 
celestial delight, even under the deepest impressions 
of sorrow and dejection, regains its strength, collects 



74 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

new courage,, and acts with perfect freedom. The 
eye looks with fortitude on the transient sufferings 
of disease ; the mind no longer feels a dread of being 
alone ; and we learn to cultivate, during the remainder 
of our lives, a bed of roses round even the tomb of 
death. 



ZIMMSRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 75 



CHAP. III. 

THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE UPON THE MIND. 

The inestimable value of liberty can only be con- 
ceived by minds that are free. Slaves are forced to 
be content, even in their bondage. He who has been 
long tossed about by the vicissitudes of fortune 3 who 
has learned, from the sufferings of his own experience, 
to form a just estimate of men and things ; who can 
examine every object with impartiality ; and walking 
in the steep and narrow paths of virtue, derives his 
happiness from his own mind, may be accounted 
free. 

The path of virtue is indeed rugged, dreary, and 
unsocial ; but it conducts the mind from painful dif- 
ficulties to sublime repose, and gently carries us over 
the acclivities of life into the delightful and extensive 
plains of happiness and ease. The love of Solitude, 
when cultivated to a certain extent at an early period 
of our lives, inspires the mind with virtue, and raises 
it to a noble independence. It is to such characters 
alone that my precepts can prove useful; or that I 
here pretend to point out the avenue to true felicity. 

I do not however wish, in conducting them to the 
retreats of Solitude, to lead them through the paths 
of misery, but would rather induce them to seek 
retirement from a dislike to dissipation, a distaste to 
the idle pleasures of life, a contempt for the treache- 



?6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

rous professions of the world, and a dread of being 
seduced by its insinuating and deceitful gaieties. 

Many men have in Solitude acquired so great a 
superiority as to enable them to defy events : many 
champions of virtue, like the majestic cedar, which 
braves the fury of the loudest wind, have resisted in 
retirement all the storms of vice. Some few indeed 
have retained, even in Solitude, the weaknesses of 
human nature ; but many others have proved that 
wisdom cannot degenerate, even in the most dreary 
seclusion. Visited by the august spirits of the dead, 
left to listen to their own thoughts, and secluded 
from the sight of every breathing object, they must 
converse with God alone. 

There are two periods of life in which Solitude 
becomes peculiarly useful : in youth, to acquire a 
fund of useful information, to form the outline of the 
character we mean to support, and to fix the modes of 
thinking we ought through life invariably to pursue •* 
in age, to cast a retrospective eye on the course of 
life we have led, to reflect on the events that have 
happened, upon all the flowers we have gathered, 
upon all the tempests we have survived. 

Lord Bolingbroke says, that there is not a deeper 
or a finer observation in all Lord Bacon's works than 
the following: " We must choose betimes such vir- 
tuous objects as are proportioned to the means we 
have of pursuing them, and as belong particularly to 
the stations we are in, and the duties of those stations. 
We must determine, and fix our minds in such man- 
ner upon them, that the pursuit of them may become 



2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. JJ 

the business, and the attainment of them the end of 
our whole lives.* Thus we shall imitate the great 
operations of nature, and not the feeble, slow, and 
imperfect operations of art. We must not proceed in 
forming the moral character, as a statuary proceeds 
in forming a statue, who works sometimes on the 
face, sometimes on one part, and sometimes on 
another ; but we must proceed, and it is in our power 
to proceed, as Nature does in forming a flower, or 
any other of her productions ; rudimenta partium 
omnium simul parit et producit; she throws out alto- 
gether and at once the whole system of every being, 
and the rudiments of all the parts." 

Ye amiable youths, from whose minds the artifices 
and gaieties of the world have not yet obliterated the 
precepts of a virtuous education ; who are not yet 
infected with its inglorious vanities ; who, still igno- 
rant of the tricks and blandishments of seduction, 
have preserved the desire to perform some glorious 
action, and retained the powers to accomplish it; 
who, in the midst of feasting, dancing, and assem- 
blies, feel an inclination to escape from their unsa- 
tisfactory delights ; Solitude will afford you a safe 
asylum. Let the voice of experience recommend 
you to cultivate a fondness for domestic pleasures, 
to rouse and fortify your souls to noble deeds, to 

* Lord Bolingbroke, in his " Idea of a Patriot King," 
has paraphrased the original " Ut continuo vertat et effor- 
met se animus, una opera, in virtutes omnes," in order to 
apply it with greater effect to the occasion for which he 
quotes it. 



78 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

acquire that fine and noble spirit which teaches you 
to estimate the characters of men, and the pleasures 
of society, by their intrinsic value. To accomplish 
this end, it is absolutely necessary to force yourselves 
from a world too trifling and insignificant to afford 
great examples. It is in studying the characters of 
the Greeks, the Romans, the English, that you must 
learn to surmount every difficulty. In what nation 
will you find more celebrated instances of human 
greatness ! What people possess more valour, cou- 
rage, firmness, and knowledge, or greater love for 
the arts and sciences ! But do not deceive yourselves 
by a belief, that in wearing the hair cut short] you 
will acquire the character of Englishmen : instead of 
such fopperies you must eradicate the vices, subdue 
the weaknesses of your nature, and imitate them only 
in their peculiar greatness. It is the love of liberty, 
the qualities of courage, penetration, sublimity of 
sentiment, and strength of reason, that constitute 
the true Englishman, and not their cropt hair, half- 
boots, and jockey-hats. It is virtue alone, and not 
titles, that elevate the characters of men. An illus- 
trious descent is certainly an advantage, but not a 
merit. But you have already formed a proper esti- 
mate of these splendid trifles, and learned that he 
who venerates such little objects can never attain to 
greatness. Women may boast of hereditary descent, 
of a line of ancestors, who, during a course of centu- 
ries, were perhaps distinguished merely by the splen- 
dour of their equipages, and the numbers of humble 
citizens who followed them on foot. But in tracing 
your genealogies, reckon only those your ancestors 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 79 

who have performed great and glorious actions, whose 
fame adorns the pages of their country's history, and 
whose admired characters distant nations continue to 
applaud ; never however lose sight of this important 
truth, that no one can be truly great until he has 
gained a knowledge of himself. 

Life opens two paths to the choice of man. The 
one leads to a fragrant garden and delightful groves, 
perfumed with the sweetest odours, where a verdant 
bed, bedecked with roses, invites the enchanted senses 
to a soft repose ; this is that path of Pleasure which 
the multitude are so easily seduced to follow; and 
where music, dancing, and love, are thought to con- 
vey such variety of delight. The other is a less fre- 
quented way, always tiresome, sometimes rugged, 
the progress through it slow, and filled with danger- 
ous precipices, down which the toiling passenger 
often falls, while he thinks his footing certain and 
secure. A dark, unbounded desert, filled with the 
cries of savage animals, the bodings of the raven, 
and the shivering hisses of the wily serpent, then 
presents itself to the affrighted mind. The path of 
Pleasure conducts us to the world, but the rugged 
path of virtue leads to honour,, The one winds through 
society to places and employments either in the city 
or at court ; the other, sooner or later, leads to So- 
litude. Upon the one road a man may perhaps 
become a villain ; a villain rendered dear and ami- 
able by his vices to society. Upon the other road, it 
is true, he may be hated and despised ; but he will 
become a man after my own heart. 

The rudiments of a great character can only be 



80 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

formed in Solitude. It is there alone that the soli- 
dity of thought, the fondness for activity, the abhor- 
rence of indolence, which constitute the characters of 
a hero and a sage, are first acquired. Many Germans 
of my acquaintance lived, during their residence at 
the university, totally unconnected with society. 
They shunned the fashionable vices of the collegians, 
preserved their native purity, and, by an adopted 
stoicism, continued not only chaste but studious. 
They ave now however become ministers of state, 
celebrated writers, and profound philosophers, who 
have diffused wisdom by their examples, banished 
prejudice by their writings, and taught vulgar minds 
new roads to opulence and ease. 

A tribute of the highest gratitude is due to the 
noble character who observed, (i That when a youth 
of solid parts withdraws himself from the world, be- 
comes melancholy and silent, and testifies, by the 
austerity of his manners and the coldness of his feel- 
ings, with what disgust the contemptible beings with 
whom he has associated have inspired his soul,* when 
his mind, emitting its rays like flashes of lightning 
in the obscurity of a dark night, occasionally darts 
forth, and then falls into a long and silent calm • 
when all around him seems a painful void, and every 
object only inspires his mind with new aversion 5 
you then behold, notwithstanding he has not openly 
complained, a happy plant, which only requires the 
cultivation of a judicious hand to bring forth its fruits, 
and disclose its beauties. O ! apply to it a fostering 
care. It will greatly and abundantly repay the cul- 
ture it receives : and surely he who impedes the pro- 



ZIMMERMANN OX SOLITUDE. 81 

gress of such a character, is the most detestable of 
murderers." 

To rear a youth of this description would form 
the joy and pleasure of my future days. I would 
nourish him in my very heart. I would watch over 
him with the tenderest care. I would conceal his 
growing virtues from the jealous and malignant ob- 
servation of envious eyes ; prevent their endeavours 
to suppress the efforts of superior genius ; and with 
a single whisper drive away those noxious vermin, 
enervated and insipid men of fashion, from my health- 
ful plant. If however such a youth did not immedi- 
ately listen to my voice, and become obedient to my 
precepts, but still listened to the allurements of the 
world, 1 would let him occasionally sail among the 
rocks of life, and, permitting him to be gently 
wrecked, shew him how experience, superior to the 
powers of youth, would have escaped the danger. 

Solitude sometimes inspires a degree of arro- 
gance and conceit ; but these defects are soon era- 
dicated by social intercourse. Misanthropy, contempt 
of folly, and pride of spirit, are, in a noble mind 
changed, by the maturity of age, into dignity of cha- 
racter; and that fear of the opinion of the world 
which awed the weakness and inexperience of youth, 
is succeeded by firmness, and an exalted contempt 
of those false appearances by which it was subdued. 
The satires once so dreaded lose all their force ; the 
mind judges of things not as they are, but as they 
ought to be, and, feeling a contempt of vice, rises 
into a noble enthusiasm for virtue, and draws from 

e3 



82 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

the conflict a rational experience and compassionate 
feeling which never die. 

But there is also a science of the heart too fre- 
quently neglected, and with which it is necessary, at 
least as far as it is possible, to familiarize ourselves 
in early youth. This is the noble science of philo- 
sophy, which forms the characters of men, which 
teaches us to attain the end we wish rather by the 
blandishments of love than by the efforts of power ; 
a science which corrects the cold dictates of reason 
by the warm feelings of the heart, opens to view the 
dangers to which they are exposed, awakens the dor- 
mant faculties of the mind, and prompts them to the 
practice of all the virtues. 

Dion* was educated in all the baseness and servi- 
lity of courts; accustomed to a life of softness and 
effeminacy ; and tainted by that more pernicious 

* Dion the son of Hipparinus, a Syracusan, by flattering 
the vices and promoting the pleasures of the tyrant Diony- 
sius, became his favourite, and of course his slave. Plato, 
who at the request of Dion had come to reside at the ty- 
rant's court, converted the mind of his young pupil by the 
divine precepts of his philosophy ; but, by preferring the dic- 
tates of virtue to those of vice, he rendered himself odious in 
the eyes of Dionysius, who banished him to Greece. The 
popularity which the practice of Plato's precepts had ac- 
quired him increased by his absence ; and he was invited to 
rescue his country from slavery. He accordingly collected a 
numerous force in Greece, entered the port of Syracuse with 
only two ships, and in three days reduced the empire under 
his power. — Translator, 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 83 

poison which flows from idle pomp, inconsiderate 
profusion, and abandoned pleasures : but no sooner 
had he conversed with the divine Plato, and acquired 
a taste for that refined philosophy which leads to a 
life of virtue, than his whole soul became deeply ena- 
moured of its charms. 

The inspiration which Dion caught from reading 
the works of Plato, every mother may, silently and 
unperceived, pour into the mind of her child. Phi- 
losophy, from the lips of a wise and sensible mother, 
penetrates into the mind through the feelings of the 
heart. Who is not fond of walking, even through 
the roughest and most difficult path, when conducted 
by the hand they love? What species of instruction 
can excel the sweet lessons which proceed from a 
female mind endowed with a sound understanding, an 
elevated style of thinking, and whose heart feels all 
the affection that her precepts inspire? Oh may 
every mother so endowed be blest with a child who 
fondly retires with her to her closet, and listens 
with delight to her instructions 3 who, with a book 
in his pocket, loves to climb among the rocks alone ; 
who, when engaged in rural sport, throws himself at 
the foot of some venerable tree, and seeks rather to 
trace out great and illustrious characters in the pages 
of Plutarch, than to toil for game in the thickets of 
the surrounding woods. The wishes of a mother are 
accomplished when the solitude and silence of the 
forests excite such thoughts in the mind of her be- 
loved child ;* when he thinks that he has seen the 

*" Minim est," says the Younger Pliny, " ut animus 
agitatione motuque corporis excitetur. Jam undique silvae et 



84 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

world, and knows that there are still greater cha- 
racters than Mayors or Kings. Characters like these 
enjoy more pure and elevated pleasures than the 
gaming-table or assemblies are capable of affording : 
at every interval of leisure they seek the shades of 
Solitude with rapture and delight ; the love of litera- 
ture and philosophy have inspired their minds from 
the earliest infancy, and warmed their hearts at every 
subsequent period of their lives; and, amidst the 
greatest dangers/ they preserve that delightful taste 
which has power to banish melancholy from the 
deepest cavern, and dejection from the most frightful 
desert. 

But as every well-disposed mind must be dis- 
gusted and rendered unhappy by the intercourse of 
cities, in which it is the general lot of youth to be 
placed, it may be advantageous to shew how many 
resources a wise and sensible man, whatever may be 
his situation in life, his age, or his country, may find 
in Solitude, against the insipidity of society, and all 
the false and deceitful joys of the world. 

Provincial towns possess in this respect many ad- 
vantages over great and populous cities. With what 
superior pleasure do we pass our time ; how much 
more leisure, liberty, and quietude do we enjoy in an 
humble village than in the distracting variety of a 
great city ! The morning is not here destroyed by 
endless messages of compliment, or by incessant pro- 
posals of some new scheme to kill the day. Domestic 
cares and comforts, the occupation of the mind, or 

Solitudo ipsorumque illud silentium, quod venationi datur, 
mao-na cogitationis incitamenta sunt." 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 85 

more delightful intercourses of friendship and of 
love, are here preferred to ceremonious visits. The 
quietude of rural retirement affords us opportunity 
to follow the course of our sentiments and ideas, to 
examine whether they be just before we determine 
on our choice : in great cities, on the contrary, men 
act first, and reflect on their conduct afterwards. In 
a village, the impressions we receive are more lively 
and profound : whilst in great cities time is entirely 
employed to create amusements, which vanish the 
moment they are approached : the bosom enjoys no 
repose ; and while it sighs for rest, the hope, desire, 
ambition, languor, disgust and contrition which it 
eternally feels, drive it for ever away. 

The minds however of those who have retired to 
the calm scenes of rural life, are frequently as vacant 
and. deserted as the hamlets in which they live j and 
they find the leisure, the happy leisure which they 
enjoy, without knowing its value, tedious and irk- 
some. There are indeed very few who have acquired 
the art of rendering Solitude useful and rational. 
Men of rank, proudly fancy that their honour would 
be degraded by the company of rustics, and, in con- 
sequence of this mistaken idea, prefer a life of con- 
straint, and live in splendid languor, rather than 
enjoy a free and happy intercourse with rational and 
honest peasants. The reverse ought to be adopted, 
especially by discontented minds : they ought to 
mix familiarly in the company of honest men, and 
acquire the esteem of all by kindness and attention. 
The lowliest clown capable of communicating a new 



86 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

thought or agreeable sentiment is a very interesting 
companion to an idle man, tormented as he must be 
by vexation and ill-humour. The humblest character 
is not to be despised ; and in the rural retreat the 
shepherd and the King should live on equal terms, 
forget the paltry distinctions of birth, and all those 
prejudices which the opinions of the world have 
raised respecting the difference of their situation. 
Rational condescension will command applause, and 
prevent the lower orders of men from reprobating 
the venality of their superiors, only because the gen- 
tlemen of the neighbourhood refuse to admit them 
into their company. 

To live happily in the country, men must deport 
themselves peaceably and affably to every one, feel 
and exercise a concern for the interests of others, and 
devote a certain portion of their time to the company 
and conversation of their inferiors. 

The advantages which the mind gains by the 
Solitude of a sequestered village, when it once begins 
to feel disgust at the tiresome intercourses of the 
great world, is inconceivable. Life is no where so 
completely enjoyed : the happy days of youth are 
no where more advantageously employed ; a rational 
mind can no where find greater opportunities of em- 
ploying its time 5 the dangers even of Solitude itself 
are no where sooner learned, or more easily avoided. 
A sequestered village may be considered as a convent, 
consisting of a select society of persons distantly re- 
tired from this world, whose wicked passions no 
sooner ferment than they evaporate, but whose vir- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 8? 

tues equally increase by the intercourses of conge- 
nial minds, or, the only alternative, a seclusion from 
all society. 

The mind cannot suffer a more odious tyranny 
than prevails in the government of a municipal 
town ! where not only the rich citizen erects himself 
into a proud master over his less wealthy equals, but 
where the contracted notions of this little tyrant be- 
come, if unopposed, the standard of reason to all the 
town. Towns, although they may in some respects 
resemble Villages, differ materially as to their inter- 
nal government and police. 

The members of small Republics care only for 
themselves, and feel little anxiety about any thing 
that passes beyond their own limits. The all pow- 
erful and imperious Governor considers his little ter- 
ritory as the universe. His breath alone decides every 
question that is proposed at the Guild Hall ; and the 
rest of his time is wholly occupied in maintaining 
his influence over the minds of his fellow-citizens, 
by relating private anecdotes, circulating superstitious 
tales, talking of the price of corn, the collection of 
tythes, the rents of his manors, hay-harvest, vintage- 
time, or the next market. Next to God, he is 
within his own territory the greatest man upon the 
face of the earth. The honest labourer crouches 
with fear and trembling in the presence of his re- 
doubtable majesty ; for he knows the ruin that awaits 
his anger. The thunder of Heaven is less terrible 
than the wrath of an upstart magistrate ; for the one 
soon passes away, but the other remains for ever. 



88 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

The figure of Justice here raises its proud head, and 
looks down with contempt on the humble suitor : the 
arbitrary magistrate governs, orders, censures, and 
condemns, without regard to right or wrong; and 
the sentence he pronounces frequently consigns ho- 
nour to infamy, while it raises vice to credit and 
applause. 

The inhabitants of a municipal town are gene- 
rally addicted to law ; and an attorney is in their 
eyes the brightest genius. The voice of Reason is 
an empty sound, and cries in vain for justice ; for 
they only believe that right which the law de- 
crees. To secede from their factious meetings, to 
reason with impartiality, to think with candour, or 
to act with liberality, only excites their jealousy and 
detestation. Of study and reflection, except among 
the clergy, they have no idea; and language will not 
furnish any word expressive of the high contempt in 
which they hold a literary character. Reason and 
superstition are, in their minds, synonymous terms. 
If a hen have laid her egga before their door, a crow 
have croaked upon the chimney-top, a mouse have 
run along the floor, they foolishly believe some dire 
misfortune is impending ; and the man who dares to 
smile at their credulity is, in their conceit, lost to 
every sense of virtue and religion. They are yet ig- 
norant that men are not free-thinkers, for humbly 
doubting whether the spots we frequently observe on 
linen announce the death of some beloved relation. 
Unconscious that there are men of independent spi- 
rits in the world, they think, alas ! that no impor- 



2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 8cj 

tant service can be performed but by along harangue 
in their Town Hall, and that no man can acquire the 
countenance of the great and good who has dared to 
oppose the leaders of their little town. But who, ex- 
cept such beings, would so tamely endure a mean 
submission to the little tyrant of their poor domain? 
An honest man will only bow before the Deity him- 
self ; will only submit to the laws which he himself 
has made; will only reverence superior talents, vir- 
tue, merit; and smile at the vain wrath and ludi- 
crous appearance of the provincial magistrate, when 
he receives him in anger with his hat upon his head. 
But of such a character they have no idea : they do 
not perceive that Slander, the common scourge of 
every country-town, is the vice of narrow-minded 
men, who visit merely to spy out their neighbour's 
conduct, and report every transaction of his house, 
his kitchen, or his cellar, with malevolent amplifica- 
tion. To men so ignorant it would be vain to say, 
that Solitude would soon improve their faculties, 
subdue their faults, render them superior to the 
meanness of envy, the disgrace of slander, inspire 
them with noble ardour to seek the path of know- 
ledge, and enable them to pursue with hardiness and 
vigour the prize of Virtue. 

Philanthropy, however extended, will not silence 
the tongue of envy ; for the jealousy of the world 
will attribute the best actions to interested motives ; 
to avoid therefore the rancorous malevolence of en- 
vious minds, we must, with an exception of those 
whose virtues we revere, turn our backs on man- 



QO ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

kind, and by retiring- into Solitude prevent the appe- 
tite of Slander from growing by what it feeds on. 

A young man, however virtuous he may be, who 
aspires to advance himself in life, will not in the 
world find the least assistance. The fashionable 
circles will certainly afford him neither information 
nor encouragement; for virtue in these places is 
neither known nor beloved. If his person should 
excite attention, the sentiments he utters will not be 
understood; the company will consider him as a 
weak, ridiculous character, who, instead of seeking 
by adulteration to gain the interests of the great and 
powerful, prefers the pleasure of writing or reading 
by himself. In vain has he been reared in the bosom 
of a liberal and enlightened family ; in vain has he 
received his education among the noblest characters ; 
in vain are his principles established by a correspond- 
ence with the best and most learned philosophers of 
the age; for these advantages only excite envy, and 
afford greater inducement to oppress his activity and 
stop his course. What man will continue to patro- 
nize him, unless he becomes dexterous in affording 
useful accommodation to those in whose hands the 
whole power resides ; from whom alone hunger can 
receive bread, or industry procure employment ; to 
whose will every thing is submitted; who direct and 
govern every movement ; and by whose nod honour, 
fame, and esteem, are conferred or taken away ? His 
mind must cautiously conceal the superiority of its 
knowledge; his eyes must appear blind to what he 
sees ; his heart seem senseless of what he feels ; he 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 91 

must constantly listen to a loose and frothy conver- 
sation, during which, however fatiguing- it may be, he 
is denied the privilege of yawning, and is ruined for 
ever, if by his silence he permit the shadow of dissa- 
tisfaction to appear. He will be despised as a man 
of sense and understanding, notwithstanding he uses 
every endeavour to be thought otherwise*. Sur- 
rounded by so much deformity, both he and his 
friends might blush for want of that distinguishing 
eminence upon the back, but that he hears them 
gravely talk at the Hotel de Ville upon the important 
care of a stable much oftener than they meet in 
London and Versailles, to decide upon the fate of 
Europe ; and must sit with as much attention to hear 
them argue upon the right of a partition-wall, as if 
he were placed in the synod of the Gods. Perceiving, 
therefore, that presumption, ignorance, and proud 
stupidity, are infinitely in higher estimation than the 
noblest exercise of reason : that men of the dullest 
apprehensions are the most forward and impudent ! 
that their vain and idle boastings alone model the wit 
and direct the opinion of the day; that envy fastens 
itself most inveterately upon the enlightened and 
well-informed 5 that philosophy is considered as a 
contemptible delirium, and liberty mistaken for a 
spirit of revolt : perceiving, in short, that it is impos- 
sible to succeed unless by means of the most servile 
complaisance and degrading submission, what can 

* " A man of enlightened mind," says Helvetius, " with 
whatever address he may conceal bis character, can never 
so exactly resemble a fool as a fool resembles himself." 



Q2 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

save a sensible and ingenuous youth from the perils 
of such a scene but — Solitude ? 

The poor poet Martial*, on his return to Bibilis, 
the place of his nativity, in Spain, after having lived 
thirty-four years among the most learned and en- 
lightened men of Rome, found it a dreary desert, a 
frightful Solitude. Forced to associate with persons 
who felt no pleasure in the elegant delights of lite- 
rature or the sciences, a painful langour seized his 
mind, and he sighed incessantly, to revisit the 
beloved metropolis where he had acquired such 
universal fame ; where his good sense, his penetra- 
tion, his sagacity, were duly applauded, and immor- 
tality promised to his writings, by the encomiums 
they received from the Younger Pliny, as possessing 
equal sharpness, wit, and ease ; but on the contrary, 
in the stupid town of Bibilis, his fame only acquired 
him that which in small cities will ever attend an 
excellent character, envy and contempt. 

If therefore you be obliged, in the circles of 
fashion, to be absurd through politeness, and blind 
with your eyes completely open ; forced to conceal 
your ideas ; to subdue your feelings ; to listen with 
attention to that which you would rather be deaf 
than hear ; if you must be chained to the slavery of 
the gaming-table, although there is no punishment 



* " Accedit his," says Martial, in the Preface to the 
Twelfth Book of his Epigrams, " municipalium rubigo den 
tium et judicii loco livor — adversus quod difficile est habere 
quotidie bonum stomach nm." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Q3 

to you so severe ; if every happy thought must be 
strangled in its birth, all brilliancy of expression 
suppressed, the looks of love concealed, honest truth 
disguised, and your whole time devoted to please 
characters who are ignorant of your merit; — O 
reflect ! — that in such a situation the enervated spirit 
lies buried in cold obscurity, like the fire in the flint 
untouched by steel ; that your soul may languish 
many years in this dangerous apathy ; and flee by a 
noble effort from the feasts and coteries of your cor- 
rupted city to the tranquillity of domestic comfort, 
the silence of the groves, the society of your own 
heart, and the charms of that inestimable liberty 
which you have so long* neglected to obtain. 

Freed from the world, the veil which dimmed the 
sight immediately vanishes : the clouds which ob- 
scured the light of reason disappear : the painful 
burden which oppressed the soul is alleviated; we no 
v longer wrestle with misfortunes, because we know 
how to soften them ; we no longer murmur against 
the dispensations of Providence, but reflect with 
calmness and serenity on the advantages we have 
derived from Solitude. The contented heart soon 
acquires the habit of patience ; every corroding care 
flies from our breasts on the wings of gaiety ; and on 
every side agreeable and interesting scenes present 
themselves to our view : the brilliant sun sinking be- 
hind the lofty mountains, tinging their snow-crowned 
summits with rays of gold: the feathered choir, 
hastening to their mossy homes to taste the sweets 
of calm repose ; the proud crowing of the amorous 



94 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

cock; the slow march of the oxen returning from 
their daily toil ; the noble activity of the generous 
steed : surrounded by such objects, we receive the 
visits of intruders with an open air; and, provided 
they do not too frequently interrupt the pleasures of 
our retreat, we reconcile our hearts to all mankind. 

But it is still more necessary to save ourselves 
from the dangers of the metropolis than from those 
of the provincial towns. The follies and vices of high 
life are much more contagious than those of the 
simple citizen ! How soon the finest beams of the 
imagination die away, how soon does goodness lose 
its power, where sense and truth are constantly de- 
spised, and the virtues thrown aside as inconvenient 
and oppressive ! The human mind soon becomes 
weak and superficial when separated from those by 
whom it might be enlightened and adorned : all the 
finer feelings of the heart, the noblest efforts of the 
mind, suddenly decay in the company of those osten- 
tatious characters who affect to disdain the pleasures 
of mixed societies *. 

The great and fashionable however, are in every 
country esteemed the best company : but the great, 
unhappily, are not always the best, however they may 
contemn the inferior orders of mankind. Whoever 
can deduce his nobility through a course of sixteen 

* The French is, " Assemblies sans oeuvre melee ;" to 
which is subjoined the following explanation : " These, in 
the style of the German nobility, are assemblies from which 
not only all commoners are excluded, but all those whose 
nobility is even liable to the least suspicion." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 95 

descents, the value of his character is invariably 
fixed : the courts of princes and the mansions of the 
great are open to receive him ; and where merit is 
overlooked, he almost universally acquires prece- 
dency over the man whose merit is his only recom- 
mendation; but those qualities, which alone can 
render him valuable as a man, his excellency must 
learn in societies where the powers of the mind and 
the virtues of the heart alone confer dignity and 
distinction. Let such a character, if he should chance 
to find one solitary moment while he is waiting in 
the anti-chamber of a prince, examine with national 
calmness all those high prerogatives of which he is 
so proud,- which, in his estimation, place him so 
much above the ordinary level of mankind, and 
induce him to retrace his descent to the creation of 
the world; and he will find that titles and genealo- 
gies without merit resemble those air-balloons, which 
rise high only in proportion to their want of weight. 

In almost every country however, these titles of 
nobility separate a certain class of men from their 
fellow-citizens, who are in general better informed, 
more wise, more virtuous, and not unfrequently pos- 
sessed of the only true nobility, a great and honour- 
able character. Men who rely only on a line of 
ancestry, not always the most respectable, and on the 
mere distinction of birth, for their fame, rank, or 
establishment in the world, never seek to acquire 
any other merit, because it is the only one of which 
they have any idea. Such characters, it is true, have 
the honours of precedency, are generally acquainted 



§6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

with the newest modes of dress, conduct with supe- 
rior skill the varying fashions, understand the bon- 
ton, exemplify the etiquette and manners of the day, 
and conceiving, from these circumstances, that they 
were formed for the refinements of sensuality and 
voluptuousness, fancy themselves of course endowed 
with the most delicate and sensible faculties. 

Langour and disgust, however, penetrate even 
into those illustrious assemblies, from which the 
pure and ancient nobility exclude the profane vulgar. 
The proposition may perhaps at first view appear a 
paradox. But listen to the manner in which a lady, 
whose personal qualifications rendered her more 
respectable than even the splendour of her birth, 
explained the aenigma. 

" The men of whom our select parties are com- 
posed do not always possess the same taste and the 
same sentiment with respect to these assemblies; 
but it is still more rare for the women to be really 
fond of them. It is, in general, the lot of the great 
to possess a great deal by their birth, to desire much 
more than they possess, and to enjoy nothing: in 
consequence of this disposition, they fly to places of 
public resort in search of each other; they meet 
without feeling the smallest pleasure, and mix 
among the group without being observed." " What 
is it then that re-unites them?" asked I. '* It is 
their rank/' she replied, " and afterwards custom, 
lassitude, and the continual desire of dissipation ; a 
desire inseparably attached to persons of our con- 
dition. " 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Ql 

Since it is really possible to experience disgust 
and langour in the assemblies of the great, let us 
examine if Solitude may not have an useful influence 
on the minds of even this class of persons. 

The nobility, misled by false information, main- 
tain that all the pleasures of Solitude centre in a 
contempt of the world and hatred of mankind ; or, 
what is still worse, that misanthropy is the only basis 
on which they are founded. On the contrary, I am 
perfectly satisfied that their minds feel much more 
spleen and mortification on their return from a 
public assembly, than they possessed when they 
quitted home — to see the world. The sober voice of 
reason is there but faintly heard; while the light, 
unmeaning tongue of folly is listened to with delight : 
our intellectual communications afford no relish ; no 
reciprocity of sentiment prevails ; the appearance of 
satisfaction frequently excites envy, and serenity of 
mind is misconstrued into sadness. The respective 
members of a numerous assembly are, in general, 
actuated by such different and opposite interests, 
that it is impossible to reconcile them with each 
other. Ask that young and lovely girl, if in a 
public assembly she always experienced the pleasures 
she hoped to find. Ask her if her heart be not tor- 
tured with vexation, when the rich and youthful 
beau, neglectful of her charms, pays his addresses to 
some rival beauty. Ask this rival beauty what pangs 
lier bosom feels when she perceives herself sup- 
planted by some happier fair: and let this last 
acknowledge the kind of pleasure she receives, if her 



98 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

admirer pay the least attention even to her own 
friend, the fair female whom the heart adores. Ask 
that sober-seeming matron, whose bosom heretofore 
has felt these torments, if she be not convulsed by- 
pain, when higher compliments are passed on the 
beauty of youth than on the wisdom of age. 

An English gentleman whom I met in Germany 
said, in a manner extremely lively, " There are wo- 
men who are eternally jealous that you do not pay 
them sufficient respect, and who, in consequence, 
assume an arrogance which would be insupportable 
even in an empress ; while they might, by compla- 
cent smiles, not only render every one about them 
pleased and happy, but obtain their admiration and 
applause. The false dignity of such characters ruf- 
fles their tempers like the quills upon the fretful 
porcupine, or the feathers of a turkey-cock in wrath." 
The most dissipated man must surely view such 
characters with abhorrence and disgust ; and if he 
seriously reflect how many there are who, careless 
of distinguishing between appearances and reality, 
feel with equal indifference the love of truth and 
dread of falsehood ; how frequently the persons who 
compose what is styled good company are, even in 
the judgment and opinion of their sincerest and most 
liberal admirers, dazzled by false brilliancy, and 
gratified by the most trifling information ; that they 
shun with terror the advantages of reflection, tran- 
quillity, and Solitude ; that they prefer a life of in- 
cessant dissipation, and seldom consult their judg- 
ments or exercise their understandings; that they 



ZIMMSRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 99 

rather expect to receive pleasure from others, than 
endeavour to find it within themselves ; and conduct 
themselves by casual advice, rather than take the 
trouble of thinking- for themselves ; that amidst the 
most favourable opportunities to observe and study 
the human character, they neither think nor speak 
but by the information of others ; that they guide 
themselves by the prejudices of their education, the 
pride of their rank, and the dictates of fashion; that 
they blindly adopt and defend the reigning opinion 
of the moment, and revolve continually round the 
same circle of defective notions, false ideas, and ob- 
scure expressions ;—in reflecting on these errors, the 
most dissipated man must exclaim with one wf the 
most virtuous and respectable sages of Germany, 
" To be forced to frequent this good company, is, 
to a thinking and judicious mind, one of the greatest 
torments in life : but when a wise man is obliged 
from indispensable motives to endure the torment, 
he will learn by experience to feel, in a still higher 
degree, the inestimable value of a rational Solitude." 

Men of the world, therefore, if they act with can- 
dour, and sincerely examine the merits of these so- 
cieties, will soon contemn such noisy and tumultu- 
ous scenes : and preferring the calm delights of Soli- 
tude, will feel a happy inclination to display, in more 
laudable pursuits, the strength and energies of the 
mind. 

In the frequent vicissitudes, embarrassments, and 
distractions of public pleasures, the intellectual 
flame expires. 



100 ZIMMEHMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

By a scrupulous attention to all those ceremonies 
which politeness exacts, we may indeed pay the 
court of flattery to both high and low ; but we also 
thereby most shamefully sacrifice our lives. The 
passion for play not only consumes time, but ener- 
vates the spirits; while the exactions of gallantry 
reduce the soul to the most abject state of servitude. 

The other entertainments of the great and gay 
are of as little value as their conversations. The man 
on whom Heaven has bestowed only the talent of 
dancing, will make but a poor figure in society. The 
courtier, whose conversation entirely consists of ob- 
servations, that " this is contrary to the established 
etiquette— that is the newest fashion — these are the 
most elegant embroideries on silk, cloth, and velvet 
— in such a month there will be a gala/' — is a crea- 
ture still more pitiful. A man may, without doubt, 
recommend himself by such kind of information, by 
that affected interest with which he speaks on a thou- 
sand trifling concerns of life, by the approbation 
which he gives to every passion, the flattery with 
which he soothes every prejudice and encourages 
every folly 5 but he thereby narrows his mind, and 
destroys the faculty of forming a just estimate of any 
important subject. Besides, the pleasures of high 
life cannot be enjoyed without the concurrence of 
great numbers in the same object at the same time : 
but reading and meditation may be enjoyed at any 
time, and continued without the intervention of an- 
other person. It is true, indeed, that if a man of 
the world were only to think of this mode of life, he 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 10 1 

would be despised as a misanthrope, and be obliged 
every moment to listen to the recommendation of 
entering into the round of public pleasures to effect 
his cure. But, on the contrary, the societies of the 
world, while they add some little refinement to the 
natural rudeness of human manners, tend to increase 
a misanthropic temper, by furnishing the mind with 
a variety of reasons to justify it. In short, the bur- 
den of misanthropy is not greater in the mind of 
him who flees from the pleasures of the world, than 
in him who seeks them : the first character only feels 
a hatred of vice and folly ; while, on the contrary, 
the idle and dissipated man hates every person who 
distinguishes himself, either by the goodness of his 
heart or the superiority of his understanding; and 
by his endeavours to deride all who possess merit, 
discovers that he feels no hope of acquiring for him- 
self either reputation or esteem. 

The mind that seriously contemplates these 
truths, and many others which these will suggest, 
must feel the necessity of retiring occasionally from 
the world; at least of confining himself to the com- 
pany of a few faithful friends, whose wit ana talents, 
when compared with those of the generality of men, 
will be what a stop watch is when compared with an 
hour-glass. By the one you may undoubtedly dis- 
cover the course of time ; but the other, from the 
nice art and happy care with which it is formed, 
points out every second as it passes. He, therefore, 
who feels the least inclination to study either men or 
books, can derive pleasure only from the company 



102 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and conversation of learned and enlightened minds ; 
and if, unfortunately, in his course through life, he 
should not meet with agreeable characters of this 
description, the charms of Solitude will recompense 
his disappointment. 

A very great character, the younger Pliny, felt 
no satisfaction from any species of public entertain- 
ment, general festival, or national solemnity, because 
he had cultivated a taste for those pleasures which a 
contemplative mind affords. He wrote to one of his 
friends, " I have, for some days past, read and writ- 
ten in the most agreeable tranquillity. You will 
ask, how this could possibly happen in Rome. I 
will satisfy you : It was during the celebration of the 
games of the Circus, the sight of which affords me 
no pleasure ; for they possess neither novelty nor 
variety, and consist of nothing worth seeing more 
than once. It is inconceivable to me, how so many 
millions of people can press with such childish cu- 
riosity merely to see horses gallop and slaves seated 
on chariots. When I reflect on the interest, anxiety, 
and avidity, with which men pursue sights so vain, 
frivolous, and reiterated, I feel a secret satisfaction 
in acknowledging that to me they afford no amuse- 
ment, and that 1 enjoy a superior delight in conse- 
crating to the study of the belles lettres that time, 
which they so miserably sacrifice to the entertain- 
ments of the Circus." 

But if, from similar motives, a man of the world 
were to steal from the pleasures of good company, 
would he not by that means degrade his character ? 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 103 

Would he not in the recess of Solitude forget the 
bon-ton, and,, of course, lose all those qualities which 
externally constitute the sole difference between the 
nobleman and his slave r 

The bon-ton, which consists entirely in a facility 
of expression, in representing our ideas in the most 
agreeable manner, prevails in every country, and is 
possessed in general by all men of sense and educa- 
tion, whatever their rank or condition in life may be. 
The nobleman and the clown, therefore, may alike 
acquire a knowledge of the bon-ton. The solitary 
character may perhaps appear in society with manners 
somewhat out of date; but a certain propriety of be- 
haviour will accompany him, which a man of true 
reflection will prefer, however foreign his style may 
be to the fashion of the world. He may perhaps 
venture to appear in company with a coat, the colour 
of which was in fashion the preceding year; perhaps 
in his modes of thinking and manner of behaviour 
something may be discernible offensive to the eyes 
of a man of the world, who upon these important 
subjects follows invariably the reigning opinion of 
the day : but by his easy, open, honest air, by that 
natural politeness which good sense and virtue in- 
spire, a man, although he be somewhat out of the 
fashion, will never displease a rational and refined 
observer, even in the brilliant circles of a court, when 
he is found to possess a decent demeanour and a 
mind stored with useful information. The most 
accomplished courtier, with all his studied manners 
and agreeable address, frequently discovers that he 
possesses few ideas, and that his mind has only been 



104 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

employed on low and trifling* objects. Among men 
of dissipated minds, who consider grossness of con- 
versation and audacity of manner as the only crite- 
rion of good sense and polished behaviour, a solitary 
man does not always meet with a favourable recep- 
tion. The style and sentiment which best please 
such characters are impossible to be learned in Soli- 
tude ; for he who most contributes to the amuse- 
ment of men of the world can seldom boast any other 
merit, than that of attempting to ridicule every thing 
that is true, noble, great, and good; or any other 
success, than proving himself to be a foolish charac- 
ter, without judgment, principle, or good manners. 

In what I have hitherto considered in this chap- 
ter no question has been raised of the internal and 
immediate advantages which Solitude confers upon 
the mind. 

The mind, without doubt, gains considerable ad- 
vantage by having been accustomed to Solitude dur- 
ing the earliest years of infancy, if instructed in a 
judicious use of time. The circumstance also, that 
even in small towns the mind may be impressed with 
a deep disgust of all those vices and irregularities 
which are common to such places, is by no means un- 
important ; for it is highly advantageous, that with- 
out lessening the respect which is justly due to the 
talents and virtues of men of quality, the mind 
should be taught to remark also their foibles and de- 
fects, in order to detach it from its fondness for the 
world, and connect it more closely with itself; to 
make it feel how dearly its future happiness is in- 
terested in exciting every faculty to acquire those 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 105 

original, great, and useful ideas, which are so seldom 
circulated in what is called good company. 

But the first and most incontestable advantage, 
which Solitude confers, is, that it accustoms the 
mind to think. The imagination becomes more 
lively, the memory more faithful, while the senses 
remain undistracted, and no external object disgusts 
the soul. Withdrawn from the fatiguing toils of the 
world, where a thousand adventitious objects dance 
incessantly before our eyes, and fill the mind with 
incoherent ideas, Solitude presents one single object 
only to our view, and we steal ourselves away from 
every thing but that on which the heart has fixed its 
pursuit. An author,* whose works I could read 
with pleasure every hour of my life, says, (< It is the 
power of attention which in a great measure distin- 
guishes the wise and the great from the vulgar and 
trifling herd of men. The latter are accustomed to 
think, or rather to dream, without knowing the sub- 
ject of their thoughts. In their unconnected rovings, 
they pursue no end ; they follow no track. Every 
thing floats loose and disjointed on the surface of 
their mind ; like leaves scattered and blown about on 
the face of the waters/' 

The mind easily acquires the habit of thinking, 

* Dr. Blair, the author of the much- admired Sermons, 
and of an excellent work, entitled, " Lectures on Rhetoric 
and Belles Let^es,'* printed in London, for the first time? 
in the year 1783 ; and indispensably necessary to be studied 
by every person who wishes to speak and write with ac* 
curacy and elegance. 

F3 



106 2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

when it is withdrawn from that variety of objects by 
which its attention is distracted 5 when it turns from 
the observation of external objects, and finds itself 
in a situation where the course of daily occurrences 
is no longer subject to continual change. Idleness, 
however, would soon destroy all the advantages 
which Solitude is capable of affording ; for idleness 
excites the most dangerous fermentation of the 
passions, and produces in the mind of a solitary man 
a crowd of extravagant ideas and irregular desires. 
To lead the mind to think, it is necessary, therefore, 
to retire from the multitude, and to raise our thoughts 
above the mean consideration of sensual objects. 
The mind then easily recollects all that information 
with which it has been enriched by reading, observa- 
tion, experience, or discourse ; every reflection pro- 
duces new ideas, and brings the purest pleasures to 
the soid. We cast our eyes on the scenes we have 
passed, and think on what is yet to come, until the 
memory of the past and future die away in the actual 
enjoyment of the present moment : but to preserve 
the powers of reason, we must, even in Solitude, di- 
rect our attention actively towards some nobly-in- 
teresting end. 

It might perhaps excite a smile, were I to assert 
that Solitude is the only school in which we can 
study the characters of men ; but it must be recol- 
lected, that, although materials are to be amassed 
only in society, it is in Solitude alone that we can 
convert them into use. The world is the great scene 
of our observations ; but to comment on and arrange 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 107 

them with propriety, is the work of Solitude. Under 
this view of the subject, therefore, I do not perceive 
how it is possible to call those characters envious and 
misanthropic, who, while they continue in the world, 
endeavour to discover even the hidden foibles, to ex- 
pose all the latent faults and imperfections of man- 
kind. A knowledge of the nature of man is laudable 
and necessary ; and this knowledge can only be ac- 
quired by observation. I cannot therefore think, 
that this study is either so dangerous or illusory as 
is in general supposed ; that it tends to degrade the 
species, to sink the human character by opprobrium, 
to beget, sooner or later, sorrow and repentance, to 
deprive life of a variety of pure and noble pleasures, 
and in the end to destroy all the faculties of the soul. 
I only perceive a very laudable spirit of useful inquiry 
and instructive observation. 

Do I feel either envy or hatred against mankind, 
when I study the nature, and explore the secret 
causes, of those weaknesses and disorders which are 
incidental to the human frame; when I occasionally 
examine the subject with closer inspection, and point 
out for the general benefit of mankind, as well as for 
my own satisfaction, all the frail and imperfect parts 
in the anatomy of the body, and rejoice when I dis- 
cover phenomena before unknown to others as well 
as to myself? I do not, upon these occasions, confine 
my knowledge to general observations, that such and 
such appearances were produced by such and such 
disorders j but, influenced by any sinister considera- 
tions, I disclose, when the necessity of the case calls 
for information, all the knowledge I possess on the 



108 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

subject, and explain every symptom of the disorder, 
with all its changes and complications. 

But a line of demarcation is drawn between the 
observations which we are permitted to make upon 
the anatomy of the human body, and those which we 
assume respecting- the philosophy of the mind. The 
physician, it is said, studies the disorders of the 
body, to apply, if possible, a remedy, as occasion 
may require • but it is contended, that the moralist 
has a different end in view. How does this appear? 
A sensible and feeling mind must view the moral 
defects of his fellow-creatures with the same regret 
that he observes their physical infirmities. Why 
do moralists shun mankind? Why do they constantly 
retire from the corruptions of the world to the purity 
of Solitude, if it be not to avoid the contagion of 
vice ? But there are a multiplicity of moral foibles 
or defects, which are not perceived to be foibles and 
defects in those places where they are every hour 
indulged. There is, without contradiction, a great 
pleasure in discovering the imperfections of human 
nature ; and where that discovery may prove benefi- 
cial to mankind without doing an injury to any in- 
dividual, to publish them to the world, to point out 
their properties, to place them by a luminous de- 
scription before the eyes of men, is, in my apprehen- 
sion, a pleasure so far from being mischievous, that 
I rather think, and I trust I shall continue to think 
so even in the hour of death, it is the only true mean 
of discovering the machinations of the devil, and 
destroying the effect of his works. 

Solitude, therefore, is the school in which we 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 109 

must study the moral nature of man : in retirement, 
the principle of observation is awakened; the objects 
to which the attention will be most advantageously 
directed are pointed out by mature reflection, and 
all our remarks guided by reason to their proper 
ends 3 while, on the contrary, courtiers, and men 
of the world, take up their sentiments from the ca- 
prices of others, and give their opinions without 
digesting the subject on which they are formed. 

Bonnet, in a very affecting passage of the pre- 
face to his work on the nature of the soul, describes 
the advantages which, under the loss of his sight, he 
derived from Solitude. " Solitude naturally leads 
the mind to meditation: that in which I have in 
some measure hitherto lived, joined to the unfortu- 
nate circumstances which have for some years afflicted 
me, and from which T am not yet released, induced 
me to seek in the exercise of my mind those re- 
sources which my distracted state rendered so neces- 
sary. My mind now affords me a happy retreat, 
where I taste all the pleasures which have charmed 
my affliction." At this period the virtuous Bonnet 
was almost blind. 

An excellent man, of another description, who 
devoted his time to the instruction of youth, Pfefrel, 
of Colmar, supported himself under the affliction of 
a total blindness in a manner equally noble and af- 
fecting, by a life less solitary indeed, but by the op- 
portunities of frequent leisure, which he devoted to 
the study of philosophy, the recreation of poetry, 
and the exercise of humanity. 



1 10 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

In Japan there was formerly an academy of 
blind persons, who perhaps were much more capable 
of discernment than the members of some other aca- 
demies. The sightless academicians consecrated 
their hours to music, poetry, and the history of their 
country : the most celebrated traits in the annals of 
Japan were chosen as the subject of their muse, and 
these they afterwards adapted to music. In reflect- 
ing- upon the irregular lives and useless employ- 
ments which a great number of solitary persons lead, 
we contemplate the conduct of these blind Japanese 
with the highest pleasure. The " mind's eye" 
opened to compensate their unhappy fate in being 
deprived of the enjoyment of their corporeal organ. 
Light, life, and joy, issued from the shades of sur- 
rounding darkness, and blessed them with tranquil 
reflection and salutary employments- 

Let us then devote our lives to Solitude and free- 
dom ; let us frequently resign ourselves to the same 
happy tranquillity which prevails in the English 
garden of my immortal friend M. Hinuber, at Mari- 
enwerder, where every object solicits the mind to 
the enjoyment of pious, peaceful sentiment, and in- 
spires it with the most elevated conceptions: or, if 
disposed profoundly to examine the more awful beau- 
ties of nature, and thereby prevent the soul from 
sinking through the void which society has occa- 
sioned, let us roam beneath the antique pines of the 
towering, majestic Hapsburg.* 

* An elevated mountain, from the summit of which may 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. Ill 

Solitude induces the mind to think ; and thought 
is the first spring of human actions : for it is truly 
observed, that the actions of men are nothing more 
than their thoughts brought into substance and be- 
ing. The mind, therefore, has only to examine 
with honest impartiality the ideas which it feels the 
greatest inclination to follow, in order to dive into 
and unravel the whole mystery of the human . cha- 
racter; and he who has not before been accustomed 
to interrogate himself will, upon such an enquiry, 
often discover truths the most important to his hap- 
piness, which the disguises of the world had con- 
cealed from his view. 

To a man disposed to activity, the only qualities, 
for which there can be any occasion in Solitude, are 
liberty and leisure. The instant he finds himself 
alone, all the faculties of his soul are set in motion. 
Give him liberty and leisure, and he will soar incom- 
parably higher than if he had continued to drag on 
a slavish and oppressed life among the sons of men. 
Those authors who never think for themselves, but 
only recollect the thoughts of others, and aim not 
at originality, here compile their works with easy 
labour, and are happy. But what superior pleasure 
does the mind of an author feel in the advantages 
of Solitude, where they contribute to bring forth the 
fruits of genius from the tree of virtue, to the confu- 
sion of folly and wickedness ! Solitude and tranquil- 

be seen the ruins of an ancient castle, whence issued the 
celebrated House of Austria. 



MS ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

lity moderate the exuberance of a lively mind, bring 
its diverging- rays to a single point, and give it a 
power to strike which nothing can resist, A legion 
of adversaries cannot inspire such a character with 
fear ; conscious of his powers, and anxious for the 
interests of virtue, his desire and determination will 
be to render his enemies, sooner or later, condign 
justice. He must undoubtedly feel the keenest re- 
gret and mortification in observing the dispensa- 
tions of the world ; where vice is frequently raised 
to grandeur, hypocrisy generally honoured by the 
suffrages of a misguided populace, and prejudices 
obeyed in preference to the voice of truth. Casting, 
however, his eyes upon this scene, he will sometimes 
say, " This is as it ought to be ; but, this is not to 
be endured:" and by a happy stroke of satire from 
his pen, the bloom of vice shall wither, the arts 
of hypocrisy be overthrown, and prejudice extin- 
guished. 

To the eye of the bold satirist, to the mind of the 
profound philosopher, to the feelings of the man of 
genius, the charms of truth disclose themselves with 
superior lustre in the bowers of Solitude. A great 
and good man. Dr. Blair, of Edinburgh, says, "The 
great and the worthy, the pious and the virtuous, 
have ever been addicted to serious retirement. It is 
the characteristic of little and frivolous minds to be 
wholly occupied with the vulgar objects of life. 
These fill up their desires, and supply all the enter- 
tainment which their coarse apprehensions can relish. 
But a more refined and enlarged mind leaves the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 113 

world behind it, feels a call for higher pleasures, and 
seeks them in retreat. The man of public spirit has 
recourse to it in order to form plans for general 
good ; the man of genius in order to dwell on his fa- 
vourite themes ; the philosopher to pursue his dis- 
coveries 3 the saint to improve himself in grace." 

Numa, the legislator of Rome, while he was only 
a private Sabine, retired on the death of Tatia, his 
beloved wife, into the forest of Aricia, where he 
passed his time in wandering alone through the sa- 
cred groves, lawns, and most retired places. The 
superstition of the age imputed his love of Solitude, 
not to any hatred of mankind, not to a sorrowful or 
discontented mind, but to a higher cause, a myste- 
rious communication with some protecting Deity. A 
rumour prevailed, that the goddess Egeria had be- 
come enamoured of his charms, had married him, 
and, by enlightening his mind, and storing it with 
superior wisdom, had led him to divine felicity. 
The druids, also, who constantly inhabited caverns, 
rocks, and the most solitary woods, are said to have 
instructed the nobility of their nation in wisdom and 
eloquence, in all the various phenomena of nature, 
the course of the stars, the mysteries of religion, and 
the essences of eternity. The high idea entertained 
of the wisdom of the Druids, although, like the 
story of Numa, it is only an agreeable fiction,* still 

* " Although," says an elegant historian, " the inte- 
grity of the sage may be impeached in countenancing the 
fiction, yet the pious fraud of the monarch may be palliated 



114 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

shews with what enthusiasm every age and nation 
have spoken of those venerable characters who, in 
the silence of woods and the tranquillity of Solitude, 
have devoted their time to the improvement and re- 
formation of mankind. 

In Solitude the powers of genius no longer require 
the patronage of the great, but act by their own in- 
trinsic force with greater energy than when stimu- 
lated by the praises of partiality, the promises of 
flattery, or the hopes of recompence. Corregio, at a 
time when Flanders, torn by civil discord, was filled 
with painters as poor in circumstances as they were 
rich in fame, had been so seldom rewarded during 
his life, that a payment of six pistoles of German 
coin, which he was obliged to travel to Parma to 
receive, created in his mind such an extravagance of 
joy, that it proved the occasion of his death.* The 
secret approbation of the judicious is the only re- 
compence these divine artists expect for their merit; 
they paint in the hope of being rewarded by immor- 
tal fame. 

if not vindicated ; and policy will pardon that deceit which 
was exercised to reform the manners, and to restrain the 
passions, of a lawless and barbarous people." — Translator. 

* The payment was made to him in quadrini a species 
of copper coin. The joy which the mind of Corregio felt in 
being the bearer of so large a quantity of money to his 
wife, prevented him from thinking either of the length of 
his journey or the excessive heat of the day. He walked 
twelve miles \ and his haste to reach his home brought on 
the pleurisy of which he did. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 115 

The practice of profound meditation raises the 
mind above its natural tone, warms the imagination, 
and gives birth to sentiments of the highest subli- 
mity; and the soul thus employed in Solitude feels 
the most pure, unbroken, permanent, and genial 
pleasures of which it is capable. In Solitude, to 
live and to think are synonymous terms; on every 
emotion the mind darts into infinity ; and, wrapt in 
its enthusiasm, is confirmed by this freedom of en- 
joyment in the habitude of thinking on sublime sub- 
jects, and of adopting the most heroic pursuits. In 
a deep recess, at the foot of a high mountain near 
Pyrmont, one of the most remarkable achievements 
of the present age was first conceived. The king of 
Prussia having visited the spa, withdrew from the 
public company of the place, and wandered alone 
upon this beautiful though uncultivated mountain, 
which to this day is called the Royal Mountain.* On 
this desert spot, since become the seat of coquetry 
and dissipation, the young monarch, it is confidently 
reported, formed the project of his war against Si- 
lesia. 

The inestimable value of time, of which the in- 
dolent, having no conception, can form no estimate, 
is much better learned in the regularity of Solitude 
than in the light and airy rounds of life. He who 
employs himself with ardour, and is unwilling to 
live entirely in vain, contemplates with trembling 
apprehension the rapid movement of a stop-watch, 

* Koenigsberg. 



Il6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

the true image of human life, the most striking em- 
blem of the rapid course of time. 

The time which we employ in social intercourse, 
when it improves the faculties of the mind, raises the 
feelings of the heart to a certain degree of elevation, 
extends the sphere of knowledge, and banishes our 
cares, is far from being mispent. But if an inter- 
course even thus happily formed become our sole 
delight, and change into the passion of love j if it 
transform hours into minutes, and exclude from the 
mind every idea except those which the object of 
affection inspires, even love itself, alas ! will absorb 
our time, and years will pass unperceived away. 

Time is never too long ; on the contrary, it ap- 
pears too short to him who, to the extent of his 
capacity, employs it usefully in discharging the re- 
spective duties which his particular situation calls 
upon him to perform. To such a disposition, time, 
instead of being burdensome, flies too hastily away. 
I am acquainted with a young prince who, by the 
assistance of six domestics, does not employ more 
than too minutes in dressing. Of his carriage it 
would be incorrect to say that he goes in it, for it 
flies. At his hospitable table every course is finished 
in a moment, and I am informed that this is the 
usual fashion of princes, who seem disposed to make 
every thing pass with rapidity. 1 have, however, 
seen the royal youth to whom I allude, exercise the 
most brilliant talents, support the highest style of 
character, attend in his own person to every applica- 
tion, and I know that he has afforded satisfaction and 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 117 

delight in every interview. I know that the affairs 
of his domestic establishment engage his most scru- 
pulous attention six hours every day, and that in 
every day of the year he employs, without excep- 
tion, seven hours in reading the best English, Ita- 
lian, French, and German authors. This prince 
knows the value of time. 

The time which the man of the world throws 
away is treasured up by the man of Solitude, and in- 
deed by every one who wishes to make his existence 
useful to himself or beneficial to mankind; and 
certainly there is not in this world any species of en- 
joyment more permanent. Men have many duties 
to perform ; and therefore, he who wishes to dis- 
charge them honourably will vigilantly seize the ear- 
liest opportunity, if he do not wish that any part of 
his time, like an useless page, should be torn from 
the book of life. We stop the course of time by em- 
ployment; we prolong the duration of life by thought, 
by wise counsel, and useful actions. Existence to 
him who wishes not to live in vain, is to think and 
to act. Our ideas never flow more rapidly, more co- 
piously, or with more gaiety, than in those mo- 
ments which we save from an unpleasant and fashion- 
able visit. , 

We shall always employ time with more rigid 
economy, when we reflect on the many hours which 
escape contrary to our inclination. A celebrated 
English author says, " When we have deducted all 
that is absorbed in sleep, all that is inevitably appro- 
priated to the demands of nature, or irresistibly 
engrossed by the tyranny of custom ; all that passes 



1 18 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

in regulating the superficial decorations of life, or is 
given up in the reciprocations of civility to the dis- 
posal of others ; all that is torn from us by the 
violence of disease, or stolen imperceptibly away 
by lassitude and languor; we shall find that part of 
our duration very small of which we can truly call 
ourselves masters, or which we can spend wholly at 
our own choice. Many of our hours are lost in a 
rotation of petty cares, in a constant recurrence of 
the same employments ; many of our provisions for 
ease or happiness are always exhausted by the pre- 
sent day, and a great part of our existence serves no 
other purpose than that of enabling us to enjoy the 
rest." 

Time is never more mispent than while we com- 
plain against the want of it. All our actions are 
then tinctured by peevishness. The yoke of life is 
certainly least oppressive when we carry it with 
good humour. But when the imperious voice of 
Fashion commands, we must, without a murmur, 
boldly resist her bondage, and learn to reduce the 
number of ceremonious visits which employ the 
week. The accomplishment of this victory; a door 
well bolted against the intrusion of futile visitors ; 
our mornings past in rational employments; and 
the evening consecrated to a severe scrutiny into our 
daily conduct, will at least double the time we have 
to live. Melanctlion, when any visitor was announced, 
noted down not only the hour, but the very minute of 
his arrival and departure, in order that the day might 
not slip unheededly away. 

The sorrowful lamentations on the subject of 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 119 

time mispent and business neglected no longer recur 
to torture the mind, when, under the freedom of a 
retired and rural life, we have once learnt to use the 
passing hours with economy. We have then no 
more fatiguing visits to make ; we are no longer 
forced, in spite of our aversion, to accept of invita- 
tions ; we are released from those accumulating du- 
ties which the manners of the world exact, and which 
altogether are not equal to a single virtue : importu- 
nate visitors cannot then call and steal away those 
hours which we hope to employ more usefully. 

But it has also been observed with great truth, 
that very few of the hours which we pass in Solitude 
are distinguished by any useful or permanent effect; 
that many of them pass lightly away in dreams and 
chimeras, or are employed in discontented, unquiet 
reflections on the indulgence of dangerous passions 
or criminal desires. 

To retire into Solitude is not always a proof that 
the mind is devoted to serious thought, or that it has 
relinquished the amusement of low and trifling pur- 
suits. Solitude, indeed, may prove more dangerous 
than all the dissipations of the world. How fre- 
quently, in a moment of the happiest leisure, does 
indisposition render the mind incapable either of 
study, or of employing its powers to any useful end I 
The most sorrowful condition of Solitude is that of 
the hypochondriac, whose mind is only occupied by 
a sense of his pains. The most dissipated man does 
not more mispend his time in pursuing the fleeting 
pleasures of the world, than a man, however ab- 



120 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

stracted from the world, who pines in melancholy 
over his misfortunes. Peevishness and ill-humour 
occasion as great loss of time as melancholy, and are 
certainly the greatest obstacles to the attainment of 
mental felicity. Melancholy is an enemy whose hos- 
tilities alarm our fears, and we therefore endeavour 
to resist its attack ; but peevishness and ill-humour 
work by sap, and we become the victims of their 
power even before we think ourselves in danger. 

Let us, however, only reflect, that by peevishness 
and ill-humour we not only lose a single day, but 
weeks and months together, and we shall endeavour 
to escape from their influence, or at least to prevent 
their access. One unpleasant thought, if we use- 
lessly suffer it to disquiet and torment our minds, 
will deprive us, for a length of time, of the capacity 
to perform any thing beyond the circle of our daily 
occupations. We should therefore most anxiously 
endeavour to prevent any the most untoward acci- 
dents of life from impeding the activity of our minds. 
While the attention is employed, the remembrance 
of sorrow dies away. Thus, in literary composition, 
if ideas flow with freedom and success, peevishness 
and ill-h amour immediately disappear; and the pen 
which was taken up with the frown of discontent, is 
laid down with the smiles of approbation and the 
face of joy. 

Life would afford abundant leisure amidst the 
greatest multiplicity of affairs, if we did not sacrifice 
our time, or suffer it to pass unemployed away. The 
youth, who has learned the art of devoting every 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 121 

hour to some useful purpose, has made considerable 
proficiency, and is already qualified to manage even 
extensive concerns. But the mind, whether from in- 
dolence or ill-humour, before it undertakes a toil- 
some task, hesitates, and endeavours to believe tha 
it is not yet the proper season to commence the 
work. Indolence must ever be caressed before it 
can be induced to act. Let our first care therefore 
be to fix our minds invariably upon some object, 
and to pursue it, so as to place attainment beyond 
the reach of accident. To form the character of a 
man of business, firmness and decision must unite 
with good-nature and flexibility. Surely no man 
ever knew better how to employ life than that mo- 
narch of whom it was said, " He is like marble, 
equally firm and polished/' 

The pursuit of some particular object, while it 
prevents the loss of time, acts like a counter-poison 
to the languors of life. Every man, from the mo- 
narch on the throne to the labourer in the cottage, 
should have a daily task, which he should feel it his 
duty to perform without delay. The legend, " It is 
to do this that you are placed here," ought to be 
ever present to his mind, and stimulate all his ac- 
tions. The great monarch, exemplary to the age in 
which he lives, and whose.conduct furnishes a model 
to posterity, rises every morning in summer at four 
o'clock, and in winter at five. The petitions of his 
subjects, the dispatches from foreign powers, the 
public documents of the state, which were presented 

G 



122 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

the preceding evening, or have arrived during the 
night, are placed before him on a table. He opens 
and peruses the contents of every paper, and then 
distributes them into three heaps. One, which re- 
quires dispatch, he answers immediately; the second 
he prepares, by remarks written in the margin with 
his own hand, for the ministers and other officers of 
the crown; the third, which contains neither amuse- 
ment nor business, is consigned to the fire. The 
secretaries of state, who attend in readiness, then 
enter to receive his majesty's commands ; and the 
business of the day is delivered by the monarch into 
the hands of his servants, to be immediately per- 
formed. He then mounts his horse to review his 
troops, and receives in the field those foreigners who 
are desirous of being introduced to him. This scene 
is succeeded by the hospitality of his table, to which 
he sits down with the gaiety of a contented mind, 
and enlivens the conversation with sentiments and 
apothegms equally admirable for their truth and 
utility. When the repast is finished, the secretaries 
re-enter, bringing with them, properly and neatly 
prepared for the royal approbation, those documents 
of which they had received the rough draughts in the 
morning. Between the hours of four and five in the 
afternoon, the daily business of the nation being 
concluded, the monarch thinks himself at liberty to 
repose; and this indulgence consists in reading to 
himself, or in having read to him the best composi- 
tions, ancient and modern, until the hour of. supper. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. l l 23 

A sovereign who thus employs his hours may fairly 
expect that the time of his ministers, his generals, 
his officers of state, shall not be mispent. 

The activity of many men is never excited except 
by matters of high importance ; they refuse to em- 
ploy their talents upon trifling objects; and because 
no opportunity occurs worthy, as they think, of their 
exertions, they will do nothing. Others do nothing, 
because they do not know how to distribute their 
time. Many great and useful purposes might be 
achieved, by actively employing all the idle half- 
hours of life to any end they might propose ; for 
there are many important events which can only be 
produced by slow degrees. But those who are pleased 
with and solicit interruption ; who indulge their in- 
dolence by remaining idle until they feel an inclina- 
tion to be industrious, which can only be acquired 
by habit ; who look prospectively for that season of 
complete leisure which no man ever finds ,• will soon 
fallaciously conclude, that they have neither oppor- 
tunity nor power to exert their talents ; and to kill 
that time which adds a burden to their lives, will 
saunter about on foot, or ride from place to place, 
morning, noon, and night. 

My deceased friend Iselin, one of the greatest 
and most worthy men that ever adorned Swisserland, 
composed his Ephemerides during the debates in the 
senate of Basil - y * a work which many of the nobility 

* Mr. Iselin was a register : while he was composing 
his Ephemerides, the senators of Basil conceived that he 



124< ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of Germany have read, and all of them ought to study. 
Our own celebrated Moeser, who now resides at 
Osnaburg, equally honoured and beloved by his king, 
the prince, the ministers, the nobility, clergy, citi- 
zens and peasants, as a man of business and a pa- 
triot, raised himself, by the easy exercise of sportive 
fancy, to a pinnacle of fame which few German 
writers have been able to reach. * 

" Carpe diem," says Horace; and this recom- 
mendation will extend with equal propriety to every 
hour of our lives. The voluptuous of every descrip- 
tion, the votaries of Bacchus and the sons of Ana- 
creon, exhort us to drive away corroding care, to pro- 
mote incessant gaiety, to enjoy the fleeting moments 
as they pass ; and there is sound reason in these pre- 
cepts, though not in the sense in which they under- 
stand them. To enjoy the present moments, they 
must not be consumed in drinking and debauchery, 
but employed in advancing steadily towards the end 
we propose to attain. The joys of public life are not 
incompatible with the advantages of Solitude. Morn- 
ing visits may be paid at noon, cards of ceremony 
may be circulated through half the town, personal 

was registering their debates ; in the same manner as the 
counsellors of Zurich thought that the immortal Gessner 
was collecting their proceedings upon his tablets, while 
he was in fact taking the portraits of those worthies in cari- 
cature. 

* M. Moeser dictated to his daughter during the exhibi- 
tion of the theatre almost the whole of his fugitive pieces 
which have so justly given immortality to his fame. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 125 

appearance may be recorded in every fashionable 
assembly, and the morning and evening still kept 
sacred to ourselves. It is only necessary to adopt 
some regular plan of life, to encourage a fondness for 
home, and an inclination to continue the pursuit of 
our design. It is the man of labour and application 
alone, who has during the day afforded benefit to his 
neighbour or service to the state, that can in con- 
science fix himself a whole night to the gaming-table, 
without hearing or saying one interesting word, and 
without, on his return home, being able to recollect 
any other expression than, " I have won or lost so 
much money." 

The highest advantage we derive from time, and 
the sole end to which I would direct these reflec- 
tions, Petrarch has already taught us. " If," says 
Petrarch, " you feel any inclination to serve God, in 
which consists the highest felicities of our nature ; 
if you be disposed to elevate the mind by the study 
of letters, which, next to religion, procures us the 
truest pleasures ; if, by your sentiments and writings, 
you be anxious to leave behind you something that 
will memorize your name with posterity, stop the 
rapid progress of time, and prolong the course of 
this most uncertain life ; if you feel the least inclina- 
tion to acquire these advantages, flee, ah ! flee, I be- 
seech you, from the enjoyments of the world, and 
pass the few remaining days you have to live in — 
Solitude." 

It is not in the power of every man to follow this 
advice - y but there are many who are, in a greater or 



126 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

less degree, masters of their time, and who may, as 
their inclinations lead them, either preserve or relin- 
quish their connections with the world. It is, there- 
fore, for the benefit of such characters, that I shall 
continue to consider the advantages which Solitude 
affords. 

Solitude inspires the mind with exquisite taste, 
extends boundaries of thought, enlarges the sphere 
of action, and dispenses a superior kind of pleasure, 
which neither time nor accident can remove. 

Taste is refined in Solitude by a more careful se- 
lection of those beauties which become the subjects 
of our contemplation It depends entirely upon 
ourselves to make choice of those objects from which 
we may derive the purest pleasure ; to read those 
writings, to encourage those reflections, which most 
tend to purify tne mind, and store it with the richest 
variety of images. Reposing with security upon the 
established wisdom of others, and consulting our own 
judgments, the mind escapes the contagion of those 
false notions which are so generally adopted by the 
world. To be obliged continually to say, ei This is 
the sentiment which I must entertain," is insup- 
portable. Why, alas ! will not men strive to gain 
opinions of their own, rather than submit to be 
guided by the arbitrary dictates of others ? If a work 
please me, of what importance is it to me whether 
the beau-monde approve of it or not? In what do ye 
instruct me, ye cold and miserable critics? Does 
your judgment make me feel that which is truly fine, 
noble, good, and excellent, with higher relish ? How 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 127 

can I rely upon the decision of a tribunal so partial 
as to decide by arbitrary agreements ; a tribunal that 
examines every thing hastily, and generally deter- 
mines wrong ? What opinion must I entertain of the 
multitude who only repeat what reviewers direct 
them to say, and sound the sentiments of others to 
the public ear ? What confidence can be placed in 
the judgments of those who pronounce the most de- 
testable publication to be excellent, only because a 
certain person of literary renown, upon whose word 
they would condemn the chastest work, has thought 
proper to praise it ? 

The enchanting beauties of truth cannot be 
discovered or felt among such a class of readers ; for 
they infect the judgment before we discover the 
danger. Enlightened minds who are capable of cor- 
rectly distinguishing beauties from defects, whose 
bosoms feel extatic pleasure from the works of 
genius, and excruciating pain from dulness and de- 
pravity, while they admire with enthusiasm, condemn 
with judgment and deliberation, and, retiring from 
the vulgar herd, either alone, or in the society of a 
few chosen friends, resign themselves to the pleasure 
of a tranquil intercourse with the illustrious sages 
of antiquity, and with those writers who have distin- 
guished and adorned the middle ages or the present 
time. 

In such a society we discover the powers of 
contributing to the perfection of our nature, and ex- 
perience the most agreeable sensations of existence ; 
we congratulate ourselves on the possession of 



128 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

mental powers; and feel, that with such characters 
we exert our faculties not only to the advantage of 
ourselves, to the pleasure of our friends, but perhaps 
also to the happiness of congenial minds to whom we 
are yet unknown ; for, in every age, the pen of truth 
will please the eye of genius and the heart of virtue. 

Solitude gives new vigour to the activity of the 
mind, multiplies the number of its ideas, extends its 
sources of information, renders curiosity more lively, 
application less fatiguing, and perseverance more 
firm. 

A man who was well acquainted with all these 
advantages has said, that, " By silent solitary reflec- 
tion, we exercise and strengthen all the powers of 
the mind : the many obscurities, which render it 
difficult to pursue our path, disperse and retire, and 
we return to a busy social life with more cheerfulness 
and content. The sphere of our understanding 
becomes enlarged by reflection: w r e have learned to 
survey more objects, and to bind them intellectually 
together; we carry a clearer sight, a juster judg- 
ment, and firmer principles with us into the world in 
which we are to live and act ; and are then more able, 
even in the midst of all its distractions, to preserve 
our attention, to think with accuracy, to determine 
with judgment, in a degree proportioned to the pre- 
parations we have made in the hour of retirement." 

Rational curiosity is, in the ordinary transactions of 
the world, very soon satisfied, but in Solitude it conti- 
nually augments. The human mind, in its researches 
after truth, cannot immediately discover the end it 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 129 

wishes to attain; it links observation to observation, 
joins conclusion to conclusion, and by the acquisition 
of one truth deveiopes another. The astronomers who 
first observed the course of the planets did not fore- 
see the extensive influence, which their discoveries 
would one day produce upon the happiness and 
interests of mankind. Delighted to view the beauty 
of the firmament, and perceiving that during the 
progress of the night the stars change their situations, 
curiosity induced them to explore the causes of the 
phenomena by which their wonder was excited, and 
led them to pursue the road of science. It is thus, 
by silent activity, that the soul augments its powers : 
and a contemplative mind will always gain advantage 
in proportion as it reflects upon the immediate 
causes, the effects, and the possible consequences, of 
an established truth. 

The imagination, when quieted by reason, 
proceeds perhaps with less rapidity, but it thereby 
relinquishes the fallacies of conjecture, and adopts 
the certainty of truth. Drawn aside by the charms 
of fancy, the mind may construct new worlds ; but 
they immediately burst, like airy bubbles of soap and 
watery while reason examines the materials of its 
projected fabric, and uses those only which are 
durable and good. " The great art to learn much," 
says Locke, " is to undertake a little at a time." 

Dr. Johnson, the celebrated English writer, has 
very happily said, * ( All the performances of human 
art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are in- 
stances of the resistless force of perseverance : it is 
by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that 

g 3 



130 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

distant countries are united by canals. If a man 
were to compare the effect of a single stroke of the 
pick-axe, or of one impression of a spade, with the 
general design and last result, he would be over- 
whelmed by the sense of their disproportion; yet 
those petty operations, incessantly continued, in 
time surmount the greatest difficulties, and moun- 
tains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender 
force of human beings. It is therefore of the utmost 
importance that those who have any intention of 
deviating from the beaten roads of life, and acquiring 
a reputation superior to names hourly swept away by 
time among the refuge of fame, should add to their 
reason and their spirit the power of persisting in 
their purposes - 9 acquire the art of sapping what they 
cannot batter ; and the habit of vanquishing obstinate 
resistance by obstinate attacks." 

Activity animates the most savage desert, con- 
verts the dreary cell into a lively world, gives 
immortal glory to the genius who meditates in the 
silence of retirement, and crowns the ingenious artist 
who produces his chef-d'oeuvres from a solitary 
workshop with unfading fame. The mind, in pro- 
portion to the difficulties it meets, and the resistance 
it has to surmount, exercises its powers with higher 
pleasure, and raises its efforts with greater zeal to 
attain success. Apelles being reproached with the 
small number of pictures he had painted, and the 
incessant attention with which he retouched his 
works, contented himself with making this reply: 
" I paint for posterity." 

To recommend monastic notions of Solitude, and 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 131 

the sterile tranquillity of the cloister, to men who, 
after a serious preparation in retirement, and assidu- 
ous intercourse with their own minds, are capable of 
performing great and good actions in the world, 
would be extravagant and absurd. Princes cannot 
live the life of monks ; ministers of state are no longer 
sought in the silence of the convent $ generals are no 
longer chosen from the members of the church. 
Petrarch therefore aptly says, " I condemn the 
Solitude which encourages sloth, as well as the 
leisure which is idly and unprofitably employed. 
Solitude must be rendered useful to the purposes of 
life. A man who is indolent, slothful, and detached 
from the world, must inevitably become melancholy 
and miserable. Such a character can never do any 
good ; he cannot resign himself to any useful science, 
or pursue any object worthy the attention of a great 
man." 

He may, however, procure to himself the plea- 
sures of the mind ; those precious pleasures, so easily 
acquired, so accessible to all mankind: for it is only 
in the pleasures purchased by pelf, wherein the mind 
has no participation, and which only tend to afford a 
momentary relief to langour, or to drown the senses 
in forgetfulness, that the great claim an exclusive 
right; but in those enjoyments which are peculiar to 
the mind they have no privilege; for such enjoyments 
are only to be procured by our own industry, by 
serious reflection, profound thought, and deep re- 
search The attainment of them, however, produces 
hidden fruits ; a love of truth, and a knowledge of 
the perfection of our moral and physical nature. 



132 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

A preacher from Swisserland has said in a Ger- 
man pulpit, " The streams of mental pleasures, of 
which all men may equally partake, flow from one to 
the other ; and that of which we have most frequently 
tasted loses neither its flavour nor its virtue, but fre- 
quently acquires new charms, and conveys additional 
pleasure the oftener it is tasted. The subjects of 
these pleasures are as unbounded as the reign of 
truth, as extensive as the world, as unlimited as the 
divine perfection. The incorporeal pleasures, there- 
fore, are much more durable than all others. They 
neither disappear with the light of the day, change 
with the external form of things, nor descend with 
our bodies to the tomb ; but continue while we 
exist ; accompany us under all the vicissitudes not 
only of our mortal life, but of that which is to come; 
secure us in the darkness of the night; and compen- 
sate for all the miseries we are doomed to suffer.'' 

Men of exalted minds therefore have always, 
amidst the bustle of the gay world, and even in the 
brilliant career of heroism, preserved a taste for 
mental pleasures. Engaged in affairs of the most 
important consequence, notwithstanding the variety 
of objects by which their attention was distracted, 
they were still faithful to the muses, and fondly de- 
voted their minds to works of genius. They gave no 
credit to the opinion, that reading and knowledge are 
useless to great men; and frequently condescend 
without a blush to become writers themselves. When 
Philip king of Macedon invited Dionysius the 
Younger to dine with him at Corinth, he felt an in- 
clination to deride the father of his royal guest, 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 133 

because he had blended the characters of Prince and 
Poet, and had employed his leisure in writing odes 
and tragedies. " How could the king find leisure/' 
said Philip, " to write these trifles }" " In those 
hours," answered Dionysius, " which you and I 
spend in drunkenness and debauchery-" 

Alexander was remarkably fond of reading. 
Whilst he was filling the world with the fame of his 
victories, marking his progress by blood and slaugh- 
ter, dragging captive monarchs at his chariot- 
wheels, marching over smoking towns and ravaged 
provinces with increasing ardour to new victories, he 
felt many intervals of time hang heavy on his hands : 
and, lamenting that Asia afforded no books to amuse 
his leisure, wrote to Harpalus, to send him the works 
of Philistus, the tragedies of Euripides, Sophocles, 
and Esehylus, and the dithyramb ics of Thalestes. 

Brutus, the avenger of the violated liberty of 
Rome, while serving in the army under Pompey, 
employed among books all the moments he could 
spare from the duties of his station. The hours 
which were allotted to the repose of the army he 
devoted to reading and writing ; and he was even 
thus employed in the evening preceding the battle 
of Pharsalia ; the celebrated battle by which the 
empire of the universe was decided. The army was 
encamped in a marshy plain ; it was the middle of 
summer, and the heat of the season excessive. The 
servants who bore the tent of Brutus did not arrive 
until a late hour. Being much fatigued, he bathed, 
and towards noon caused his body to be rubbed with 



134 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

oil, while lie waited their arrival. Taking some little 
refreshment, he retired to his tent, and while others 
were locked in the arms of sleep, or contemplated 
the event of the ensuing day, he e.nployed himself 
during the night in drawing a plan from the History 
of Polybius 

Cicero who was more sensible of mental plea- 
sures than any other character, says in his oration 
for the poet Archias, " Why should [ be ashamed to 
acknowledge pleasures like these, since, for so many 
years, the enjoyment of them has never prevented 
me from relieving the wants of others, or deprived 
me of the courage to attack vice and defend virtue ? 
Who can justly blame, who can censure me, if, while 
others are pursuing the views of interest, gazing at 
festal shows and idle ceremonies, exploring new 
pleasures, engaged in midnight revels, in the dis- 
traction of gaming, the madness of intemperance, 
neither reposing the body nor recreating the mind, 
I spend the recollective hours in a pleasing review 
of my past life ; in dedicating my time to learning 
and the muses ?" 

Pliny the Elder, full of the same spirit, devoted 
every moment of his life to learning. Some person* 
always read to him during his meals ; and he never 
travelled without a book and a portable writing desk 
by his side. He made extracts from every work he 
read ; and, scarcely conceiving himself alive while 
liis faculties were absorbed in sleep, he endeavoured 
by this diligence to double the duration of his exist- 
ence. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 135 

Pliny the Younger read wherever it was possible, 
whether riding, walking, sitting, or whenever the 
subject of his employment afforded him the opportu- 
nity -, for he made it, indeed, an invariable rule to 
prefer the discharge of his duty to those occupations 
which he followed only as an amusement. It was 
this disposition which so strongly inclined him to 
Solitude and retirement. " Shall I," said he, " ne- 
ver break the chains by which I am held ? Are they 
indissoluble? No! 1 dare not hope for such an 
event! Every day adds new torments to the former. 
Scarcely is one duty performed, when another is im- 
posed ; and the chain of business becomes every day 
more heavy and oppressive." 

Petrarch was always gloomy and low . spirited, 
except while he was reading or writing, especially 
when he was prevented from resigning himself in 
Solitude to the fine phrensies of poetry on the banks 
of some inspiring stream, among the romantic rocks 
and mountains, or the flower-enamelled vallies of the 
Alps. To avoid the loss of time during his travels, 
he constantly wrote at every inn where he stopped 
for refreshment. One of his friends, the Bishop of 
Cavillon, being alarmed, lest the intense application 
with which he read and wrote when at Vaucluse 
should entirely destroy his health, which was al- 
ready greatly impaired, desired him one day to give 
him the key of his library. Petrarch gave it to him 
immediately, without suspecting the motive of his 
request ; when the good bishop instantly locking up 
his books and writing-desk, said, " I interdict you 



136 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

from pen, ink, paper, and books, for the space of ten 
days." 

Petrarch felt the severity of the sentence, but 
suppressed his feelings, and obeyed. The first day 
of this exile from his favourite pleasure was tedious ; 
the second, accompanied with an incessant head- 
ache ; and the third, with a fever. The bishop, affected 
by his condition, returned him the key, and restored 
him to health. 

The late Earl of Chatham, as I have been in- 
formed by his own nephew, my intimate Mend, was 
in youth cornet in a regiment of dragoons, which 
was quartered in a small town in England. He dis- 
charged his duty, upon all occasions, with scrupulous 
attention ; but the moment his duty was performed, 
he retired to Solitude during the remainder of the 
day, and employed his hours alone, without visiting 
or being visited, in reading the most celebrated 
authors of Rome and Athens. Attacked at an early 
period of his life by an hereditary gout, which he 
wished to eradicate, his mode of living was extremely 
frugal and abstemious. The feeble state of his 
health perhaps made him fond of retirement 5 but it 
was certainly in Solitude that he laid the foundation 
of that glory which he afterwards acquired. 

Characters like this, it will perhaps be said, are 
not now to be found ; but, in my opinion, both the 
assertion and the idea would be erroneous. Was the 
Earl of Chatham inferior in greatness to a Roman ? 
and will his son, who while yet a youth, thunders 
forth his eloquence in the senate like Demosthenes, 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 1st 

and captivates, like Pericles, the hearts of all who 
hear him : who now, when little more than thirty 
years of age, makes himself feared and respected as 
the prime minister of the British empire, ever think 
or act, under any circumstances, with less greatness 
than his illustrious father? What men have once 
been, they may always be. Europe now produces 
men as great as ever adorned a throne, or commanded 
in the field. Wisdom and virtue, where an inclina- 
tion to attain them prevails, may increase as much in 
public as in private life, as well in the palaces of 
kings as in the humble cottage. Wise Solitude is no 
where more respectable than in the palace. The 
statesman may there, in profound tranquillity, plan 
the most important enterprizes, and live with calm- 
ness and content, provided he discharge his duty 
without ostentation, and avoid the contagion of weak 
and frivolous minds. Glory may be acquired at all 
times, and in every place; and although it may be 
difficult to return from the beaten path, and com- 
mence a new career, the remainder of the journey 
may be rendered pleasant to himself and beneficial to 
the world, unless, with powers to display the strong 
and steady light of truth, his mind contents itself 
with only occasional gleams, and twinkles with the 
feeble light of the glow- worm. 

Solitude will ultimately render the mind superior 
to all the vicissitudes and miseries of life. The man 
to whose bosom neither riches, nor pleasure, nor 
grandeur, can convey felicity, may, with a book in 
his hand, learn to forget his cares under the friendly 



138 ZIM HERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

shade of every tree 5 and with exquisite delight taste 
pleasures as lively as they are varied ; pleasures pure, 
and ever new. The faculties of the mind regain 
their pristine strength : and their increasing vigour 
not only excites the most pleasing sensations, but 
presents to his view the attainment of any end he 
chooses to adopt, of any character he may choose to 
acquire. These pleasures increase in proportion to 
the extent of his capacity, the greatness of his views, 
and the purity of his intent; and his hopes, however 
high, are rendered rational by his contempt of flattery, 
and of the idle pursuits and frivolous amusements of 
the world. 

He who shuns the society of men in order to ob- 
tain their love and esteem, who rises with the sun to 
hold converse with the dead, is, without doubt, not 
booted at the break of day. The horses of such a 
man repose quietly in their stalls, and his doors 
remain carefully bolted against the intrusion of idle 
loungers. He studies, however, both men and 
manners ; never loses sight of the transactions of the 
world ; casts a retrospective eye upon the knowledge 
which his studies and experience have gained ; and 
every observation which he makes on life confirms a 
truth or refutes a prejudice : for in Solitude the whole 
system of life is unveiled, stripped of its false glare, 
and represented in its natural state to our view. 
Truth, which in the common intercourse of men 
always lies concealed, here exhibits itself in naked 
simplicity. Ah ! how happy is that man, who has 
attained to a situation, where he is not under the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 139 

necessity of purchasing pleasure at the expence of 
truth. 

The advantages of Solitude are not incompatible 
with our duty to the public, since they are the noblest 
exercises in which we can employ our faculties for 
the good of mankind. Can it, in any situation, be a 
crime to honour, to adore, and sacredly to speak the 
truth ? Can it be a crime boldly and publicly to 
announce, as the occasion may require, that of which 
an ordinary individual would tremble to think ; and 
to prefer noble freedom to a degrading slavery ? Is 
not the liberty of the press the channel through 
which writers diffuse the light of truth among the 
people, and display its radiance to the eyes of the 
great ? Good writers inspire the mind with courage 
to think; and does not the free communication of 
sentiment contribute to the progress and improve- 
ment of human reason ? It is precisely this love of 
liberty, which leads men into Solitude, that they 
may throw off the chains by which they are confined 
in the world ; it is from this disposition to be free, 
that he who thinks in Solitude boldly speaks a 
language, which perhaps in society he would not 
have dared openly to hazard. Timidity is never the 
companion of retirement. The man who has courage 
to seek the peaceful lonely shades of Solitude, dis- 
dains a base submission to the pride and insolence of 
the great, and boldly tears from the face of despo- 
tism the mask by which it is concealed. 

Solitude conveys the most sublime and lasting 
pleasures to the soul, even when the faculties of the 



140 ZTMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

body are entirely decayed. Calin, consolatory, and 
perennial, they at length become as necessary to our 
happiness, as it is to the debauched mind of a man 
of the world to be for ever trifling, inactive, or 
running from door to door in search of contemptible 
joys that are never to be found. 

Cicero, speaking of the pleasures of the mind, 
says, " They employ us in youth, and amuse us in 
old age : in prosperity they grace and embellish : in 
adversity they afford us shelter and support ; delight- 
ful at home, and easy abroad, they soften slumber, 
shorten fatigue, and enliven retirement." 

^ " The Belles Lettres," says Pliny the Younger, 
" are my delight and consolation; I know of no study 
more agreeable ; there is no misfortune which they 
cannot alleviate. In the afflictions I feel for the 
sufferings of my wife, the sickness of my servants, 
the death of my friends, I find no relief but in my 
studies ; for although I am then made sensible of the 
magnitude of my evils, they nevertheless become more 
supportable." 

Philosophy, a love of letters, all that affords 
pleasure, or adds dignity to life, can only be learned 
in Solitude. Fine taste cannot be either cultivated 
or preserved among those vain pretenders, who, 
while you discourse with them upon the subjects 
of science, speak of learning with contempt, and 
frequently tell you with a sneer, " Oh! I never 
enquire into such vulgar things." 

The habit of thinking, of making new discoveries, 
of acquiring new ideas, is a never-failing resource to 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 141 

him who feels his mind enriched by observation, and 
knows how to apply the knowledge which he gains. 
When Demetrius had captured the city of Megara, 
the soldiers prepared to plunder; the Athenians, 
however, interceding strongly for its inhabitants, 
prevailed; Demetrius was satisfied with expelling 
the garrison, and declared the city free. Amidst 
these transactions, he recollected Stilpo, a philoso- 
pher of great reputation, who sought only the 
retirement and tranquillity of a studious life. Having 
sent for him, Demetrius asked, af if they had taken 
any thing from him?" "No," replied Stilpo, " I 
found none that wanted to steal my knowledge." 

Solitude is the channel through which all those 
things flow which men conceal in the ordinary com- 
merce of life. The wounded feelings of a man who 
is able and disposed to write may, in Solitude, derive 
the greatest comforts from literary composition. 
The pen, indeed, is not always taken up because we 
are alone ; but if we be inclined to write, it is indis- 
pensably necessary that we should enjoy quietude. 
The mind of a man disposed to cultivate philosophy, 
or to court the muse, must be free from all embar- 
rassment He must not hear his children crying 
every moment at his door, his servants must not in- 
cessantly intrude with messages of ceremony and 
cards of compliment ; in short, he must be alone. 
Whether walking in the open air, seated in his closet, 
reclined under the shade of a spreading tree, or 
stretched upon his sofa, he must follow all the im- 
pulses of his mind, and be at liberty to change his 



142 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

situation when and where he pleases. To write with 
success, he must feel an irresistible inclination, and 
be able to obey the dictates of his taste and genius 
without impediment or restraint. Unless all these 
advantages be united, the writer should interrupt 
the progress of the work, and suspend the efforts of 
the mind, until it feels that divine inspiration which 
is capable of subduing every difficulty, and sur- 
mounting every obstacle. An author can never 
write well, unless he feels a secret call within his 
breast, unless he watches for those propitious mo- 
ments when the mind pours forth its ideas, and the 
heart warms with the subject. Revived by cheerful 
prospects, animated by the noblest sentiments, 
urged by contempt of difficulties, the mind will make 
a powerful effort, and fine thoughts, in suitable ex- 
pressions, will flow spontaneously from his pen. 
The question, whether he ought or ought not to 
write, will then be resolved. The inclination is irre- 
sistible, and will be indulged, even at the expence of 
fortune, family, friends, patrons, and all that we 
possess. 

Petrarch felt this secret impulse when he tore 
himself from Avignon, the most vicious and cor- 
rupted city of his time, to which the Pope had trans- 
ferred the papal chair. Although honoured with the 
protection of the Holy Father, of princes and of car- 
dinals, still young and full of noble ardour, he exiled 
himself from that brilliant court, and retired to the 
famous Solitude of Vaucluse, at the distance of six 
leagues from Avignon, where he had only one ser- 



ZIMMERMANN OX SOLITUDE. 143 

vant to attend him, and all his possessions consisted 
of a small house and little garden. Charmed with 
the natural beauty which surrounded this humble 
retreat, he removed his library to it ; and, during his 
residence there, completed all his works, of which 
before he had only sketched the outlines. Petrarch 
wrote more at Vaucluse than at any other place 
where he resided ; but, although he was continually 
employed in polishing his writings, he hesitated long 
before he could resolve to make them public. Virgil 
calls the leisure which he enjoyed at Naples ignoble 
and obscure ; but it was during this leisure that he 
wrote his Georgics, the most perfect of all his works, 
and which shews, in almost every line, that he wrote 
for immortality. 

Every great and excellent writer has this noble 
view, and looks with enthusiasm towards the suffrages 
of posterity. An inferior writer asks a more mo- 
derate recompence, and sometimes obtains the de- 
sired reward. Both, however, must withdraw from 
the distractions of the world, seek the silence of the 
forest, and the freshness of the shade, and retire as 
it were into their own minds. To produce a work 
capable of reaching future generations, or worthy of 
the attention of contemporary sages, the love of So- 
litude must entirely occupy the soul ; for, to the ad- 
vantages resulting from Solitude, every thing they 
perform, all that they obtain, must be attributed. 
Every advantage a writer gains by profound think- 
ing is due to Solitude ; he there reviews and arranges 
whatever in the world has made an impression on his 



144 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

mind, and sharpens the dart of satire against inve- 
teracy of prejudice and obstinacy of opinion. The 
faults of mankind strike the moral writer, and the 
desire of correcting them agitates his soul as much 
as the desire of pleasing actuates that of others. The 
desire of immortality, however, is the last in which a 
writer ought to indulge. No one need attempt it, 
unless he possesses the genius of a Bacon ; can think 
with the acuteness of a Voltaire ; compose with the 
ease and elegance of a Rousseau; and, like them, be 
able to produce master-pieces worthy of being trans- 
mitted to posterity. Characters like these alone 
may be allowed to say, " Our minds are animated by 
the sweet consolatory reflection, that our names will 
be remembered when we are no more; by the pleas- 
ing whisper of flattery, which we hear from some of 
our contemporaries, of the approbation we shall 
hereafter receive from those who are yet unborn, to 
whose instruction and happiness we have, with all 
the ardour of esteem and love, devoted our labours. 
We feel within us those seeds of emulation which 
incite us to rescue from death our better part, and 
which prevent the happiest moments of our lives 
from being buried in oblivion/' 

The love of fame, as well by the feeble light of 
the lamp, as on the throne, or in the. field, produces 
actions, the memory of which is not extinguished by 
mortality, or buried with us in the tomb. The meri- 
dian of life becomes then as brilliant as its morning. 
" The praises," says Plutarch, " bestowed upon great 
2nd axalted minds, only spur on and rouse their emu- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 145 

lation. Like a rapid torrent, the glory which they 
have already acquired hurries them irresistibly on to 
every thing that is great and noble. They never 
consider themselves sufficiently rewarded. Their 
present actions are only a pledge of what may be ex- 
pected from them ; and they would blush not to live 
faithful to their glory, and to render it still more 
illustrious by their noblest actions. 3 ' 

The man to whose ear idle adulation and insipid 
compliments are disgusting, will feel his heart warm 
when he hears with what enthusiasm Cicero says, 
<c Why should we dissemble what it is impossible for 
us to conceal ? Why should we not be proud of con- 
fessing candidly that we all aspire to fame? The love 
of praise influences all mankind, and the greatest 
minds are most susceptible of it. The philosophers, 
who most preach up a contempt for fame, prefix 
their names to their works ; and the very perform- 
ances in which they decry ostentation, are evident 
proofs of their vanity and love of praise. Virtue re- 
quires no other reward for all the toils and dangers 
to which she exposes herself, than that of fame and 
glory. Take away this flattering reward, and what 
would remain in the narrow career of life to prompt 
her exertions ? If the mind could not launch into the 
prospect of futurity, were the operations of the soul 
to be limited to the space that bounds those of the 
body, she would not weaken herself by constant fa- 
tigues, or weary herself with continued watchings 
and anxieties ; she would not think even life itself 
worthy of a struggle : but there lives in the breast of 

H 



J 40 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

every good man a certain principle, which unceas- 
ingly prompts and inspirits him to the pursuit of a 
fame beyond the present hour ; a fame not commen. 
surate to our mortal existence, but co-extensive with 
the latest posterity. Can we, who every day expose 
ourselves to dangers for our country, and have never 
passed one moment of our lives without anxiety and 
trouble, meanly think that all consciousness shall be 
buried with us in the grave? If the greatest men have 
been careful to preserve their bustoes and their 
statues, those images not of their minds but of their 
bodies, ought we not rather to transmit to posterity 
the resemblance of our wisdom and virtue ? For my 
part, at least, I acknowledge, that in all my actions I 
conceived that I was disseminating and transmitting 
my fame to the remotest corners and the latest ages 
of the world. Whether therefore my consciousness 
of this shall cease in the grave, or, as some have 
thought, shall survive as a property of the soul, is of 
little importance ; for of one thing I am certain, that 
at this instant I feel from the reflection a flattering 
hope and delightful sensation/' 

This is the true enthusiasm with which we ought 
to inspire the bosoms of the young nobility. Were 
any one happy enough to light up this generous 
flame within their hearts, and thereby inure them to 
a constant application to their studies, we should see 
them shun the pernicious pleasures of their age, and 
enter with dignity on the stage of life : w r e might 
then expect them to perform the noblest actions, to 
add new lusture to science, and brighter rays to glory. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 147 

To exalt the minds of noble youths, it is only neces- 
sary to inspire them with an aversion from every 
thing that is mean ; to excite a disgust for every 
thing that enervates the body or weakens the facul- 
ties of the mind ; to remove from their company 
those vile and contemptible flatterers who are con- 
tinually praising the pleasures of sense, and who 
seek to acquire interest and fortune only by leading 
them into crimes ; decrying every thing that is great, 
and rendering them suspicious of every thing that is 
good. The desire of extending our fame by noble 
deeds, and of increasing our credit by internal dig- 
nity and greatness of soul, possesses advantages 
which neither high rank nor illustrious birth can be- 
stow ; and which, even on the throne, cannot be ac- 
quired without the aid of virtue, and a fixed atten- 
tion to the suffrages of posterity. 

The seeds of future fame are in no instance more 
plentifully sown than by the bold satirist, who dares 
to condemn the follies of the multitude, to paint 
their prejudices, and expose their vices in glowing 
and unfading colours ; and whose works, if they fail 
to reform the age in which they are written, may 
operate upon succeeding generations, and extend 
their influence to the remotest posterity. The au- 
thor, whose merit, while living, envy and malice 
have inveterately pursued, reaps the advantage of his 
judicious precepts, instructive examples, and honest 
fame, when his mortal part has descended to the 
grave. Oh, Lavater ! those base corrupted souls^ 
who only shine a moment and are for ever extin- 



148 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

guished, will be forgotten, while thy name is ho- 
noured and beloved. Thy foibles, for without them 
thou wouldst not have been so great, will no longer 
be remembered, and those qualities which distinguish 
thee from others will alone be seen ! The rich variety 
of thy language, the judgment with which thou hast 
boldly invented and created new expressions, the 
nervous brevity of thy style, and thy striking pic- 
ture of human manners and defects, will, as the 
author of " The Characters of German Poets and 
Prose Writers" has predicted, extend the fame of 
thy " Fragments upon Physiognomy" to the remo- 
test posterity, as one of the small number of German 
originals which do honour to the genius of the age. 
The accusation that Lavater, who was capable of 
developing such sublime truths, and of creating 
almost a new language, gave credit to the juggles of 
Mesnier, will then be forgotten. 

Such is the fate that attends the works of great 
and excellent writers. The life after death, for which 
Cicero seemed to hope with so much enthusiasm, 
will arrive. The approbation which Lavater pre- 
dicted, his work on Physiognomy will receive, not- 
withstanding all those injuries that have been heaped 
upon it both in Swisserland and in Germany. But 
if Cicero had been only a consul, and Lavater 
merely a thaumaturgus,* little of either the one or 

* Thaumaturgus — one who works miracles: a title given 
by the papists to those of their saints who were supposed 
to work miracles. — Translator, 



ZIMMERMAMN ON SOLITUdA. 149 

the other would be recorded in the archives of Time, 
which swallows up common characters, and pre- 
serves only those whose names are worthy of ever- 
lasting fame. 

The invectives of the vulgar, and the indignation 
of the critics, are wreaked in vain against these cele- 
brated names, and against all those who may be 
tempted to imitate them. " Why/' say each of 
them to the laughing blockhead, " would you ex- 
pound the meaning of all that I write, since my 
finest strokes, congealing in your mind, produce only 
such frigid ideas? Who are you? By what title do 
you claim to be keeper of the archives of folly, and 
arbiter of the public taste ? Where are the works by 
which you are distinguished? When and where have 
you been announced to the world ? How many su- 
perior characters do you reckon among the number 
of your friends ? What distant country is conscious 
that such a man exists ? Why do you continually 
preach your f nil admirari ?' Why do you strive to de- 
preciate every thing that is good, great, and sublime, 
unless it be from a sense of your own littleness and 
poverty ? You seek the approbation of the weak and 
giddy multitude, because no one else esteems you; 
and despise a fair and lasting fame, because you can 
do nothing that is worthy of honest praise ; but the 
name you endeavour to ridicule shall be remembered 
when yours will be forgotten." 

The desire of glory is equally natural and allowa- 
ble in men even of little sense and judgment ; but it 
is not from the opinions of such characters that 



2 50 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

writers expect fame. It is from reflecting and im- 
partial minds ; from the approbation of those virtu- 
ous and private characters for whom alone they with- 
draw from the multitude, and whose bosoms open 
willingly to a writer, when they observe the confi- 
dence with which he desires to disclose his senti- 
ments 5 it is to obtain the approbation of such persons 
alone, that writers seek the shades of Solitude. 

Except those who scribble their names on walls 
and on panes of glass, no character appears to m e 
less formed for glory than the man who writes solely 
for the place in which he dwells. He who, without 
being a member of any academy or literary club, 
seeks for fame among his fellow citizens, is a fool 
who sows his seed upon a rock. They may perhaps 
praise the elegance of his style, but they will never 
pardon the severity, greatness, and freedom of his 
expressions. To the prejudiced multitude, there- 
fore, he must learn to be discreetly silent ; for openly 
to avow sentiments that would do honour to his 
character, or by which he might acquire the praises 
of other men, is only to exasperate those among 
whom he lives. 

A writer, however, of true taste and sound judg- 
ment, is conscious that impartial and rational minds, 
throughout the universe, adopt other principles in 
appreciating the merit cf a good work, than those 
which influence the judgment of his fellow citizens. 
True critics enquire, tf Does the work relate to the 
interests of mankind? Is its object useful and its end 
moral ? Will it inform the understanding and amend 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 151 

the heart ? Is it written with freedom and impartia- 
lity ? Does it bear the marks of honesty and sincerity ? 
Does it attempt to ridicule any thing 1 that is good or 
great ? Does a manly style of thinking predominate ? 
Do reason, wit, humour, and pleasantry, prevail in 
it? Does it contain new and useful truths ? If it in- 
spire noble sentiments and generous resolutions, our 
judgment is fixed : the work is good, and the author 
a master of the science. " 

In the ordinary commerce of the world, in that 
intercourse of flattery and falsehood where every one 
deceives and is deceived ; where all appear under a 
borrowed form, profess friendships which they do 
not feel, and bestow praises only to be praised in re- 
turn ; men bow the lowest to him they despise the 
most, and style every silly woman they meet, " Your 
Grace. "* But he who lives retired from this scene 
of illusion expects no compliments from others, and 
bestows them only where they are deserved. All 
the insidious grimaces of public life are nothing to 
the inspiring smiles of friendship, which smooth the 
rugged road of life, and soften all our toils. 

Of what value are all the babblings and vain boast- 
ings of society to that domestic felicity which we 
experience in the company and conversation of an 
amiable woman, whose charms awaken the dormant 
faculties of the soul, and fill the mind with finer 
energies; whose smiles prompt our enterprises, and 
whose assistance insures success ; who inspires us 

* A title given in Germany to persons of quality. 



152 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

with congenial greatness and sublimity; who with 
judicious penetration weighs and examines our 
thoughts, our actions, our whole character; who 
observes all our foibles, warns us with sincerity of 
their consequences, and reforms us with gentleness 
and affection ; who by a tender communication of her 
thoughts and observations conveys new instruction 
to our minds, and by pouring the warm and gene- 
rous feelings of her heart into our bosoms, animates 
us incessantly to the exercise of every virtue, and 
completes the polished perfection of our character 
by the soft allurements of love, and the delightful 
concord of her sentiments. In such an intercourse, 
all that is virtuous and noble in human nature is 
preserved within the breast, and every evil propen- 
sity dies away. 

But in our public intercourses with the world 
we are forced to relinquish the manners we indulge 
in Solitude. The smooth and polished surface of 
character must alone be exhibited in the world, and 
every sharp point carefully concealed. It is true by 
these means we pass through society without doing 
hurt to any person, and the generality of men find 
pleasure in our company.* 

There are, however, those who view us in a dif- 
ferent aspect. To contemporary writers our good 

* " Le materiel constitutes the highest degree of merit ; 
and to live in peace we ought to take great care that the other 
side of our characters should be perceived ;" said a great 
man to me ; one of the dearest and most respectable 
among my friends in Germany. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 153 

qualities and defects appear by our writings, in which 
one sincere sentiment frequently becomes the strong- 
est evidence against us ; and this danger furnishes 
great consolation to our dear countrymen, who, if the 
voice of Fame should chance to convey the sounds of 
our success to their ears, are mortified to think that 
there are people in the world not lost to a sense of 
merit. The human character, it is true, frequently 
exhibits a singular mixture of virtue and vice, of 
strength and weakness; and why should we conceal 
it ? Our foibles follow all that is terrestrial in our 
nature to the tomb, and lie buried with the body by 
which they were produced. The nobler part, if we 
have performed any work worthy of existence, sur- 
vives ; and our writings are the best wealth we leave 
behind us when we die. 

But, exclusive of this enthusiasm, Solitude affords 
a pleasure to an author of which no one can deprive 
him, and which far exceeds all the honours of the 
world. He not only anticipates the effect his work will 
produce, but while it advances towards completion, 
feels the delicious enjoyment of those hours of sere- 
nity and composure which his labours procure. 

The mind of a successful writer feels the highest 
pleasure from the uninterrupted attention and the 
glowing enthusiasm which accompany his studies. 
Sorrows flee from this elegant occupation. Oh ! I 
would not exchange one single hour of such private 
tranquillity and content, for all those flattering illu- 
sions of public fame with which the mind of Tully 
was so incessantly intoxicated. Solitude, in the 

h 3 



154 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

midst of continual sufferings, is an enjoyment which 
not only rationally connects the soul with the present 
moment, but carries it to future happiness and feli- 
city. The secret pleasure which the most trifling 
acquisition produced by solitary study affords, is 
unknown to men of rigorous constitutions; for they 
confide in the strength of their powers. But to a 
writer afflicted by ill-health, a difficulty surmounted, 
a happy moment seized, a proposition elucidated, a 
sentence neatly and elegantly turned, an harmonious 
period, or a happy expression, is a salutary and heal- 
ing balm, a counter-poison to melancholy, the most 
precious advantage of Solitude, and infinitely superior 
to those dreams, those presentiments of honour and 
glory after death. Oh ! who would not willingly 
renounce, for one of these enjoyments, that enthu- 
siasm, against which reason opposes so many power- 
ful objections, and which to me does not appear quite 
satisfactory, except when we do not altogether enjoy 
our usual presence of mind. 

To enjoy himself without being dependent on the 
aid of others ; to devote to employments, not perhaps 
altogether useless, those hours which sorrow and 
chagrin would otherwise steal from the sum of life, 
are the great advantages of an author; and with 
these advantages alone I am perfectly content. And 
who would not be content with Solitude, when he 
perceives that while the multitude are rolling in their 
carriages through the streets, and making the walls 
of every house tremble to their foundation, he is 
capable of deriving such superior advantages? 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 155 

The singularities of some writers are often-times 
the effects, and frequently the real advantages of 
Solitude. Men who are proficient in Solitude, from 
a long absence from the world, are boldly inflexible 
to its manners : and even those of its votaries, who 
still retain a fondness for society, soon lose the arts 
of simulation, and instead of undergoing the painful 
necessity of appearing indifferent from what they 
are, seize the pen, and relieve their feelings by indulg- 
ing the momentary effusions of a light and sportive 
fancy. 

The world perhaps mav condemn this practice, 
and say, that this light and easy style of writing con- 
tributes neither to the pleasure nor the information 
of a reader : but it has its merit : it introduces a 
free and lively kind of literature ; teaches the mind 
to rise above a creeping train of thought, and vigor- 
ously appropriates to itself the manners of the times. 
A nation not yet perfect may become mature by ex- 
tirpating ancient prejudices, indulging freedom of 
sentiment, and encouraging philosophical writers 
boldly to express their sentiments and opinions. To 
entertain readers it is, in my opinion, only necessary 
to deliver freely in writing that which in the general 
intercourses of society it is impossible to say either 
with safety or politeness. This is what I call liberty; 
an inestimable treasure ! which, under a wise and 
moderate administration, every one enjoys who lives 
in Solitude. 

In a treatise upon style, printed at Weymar, a 
gentleman appears very strongly to oppose this new 



156 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

manner of writing. In honour of the solitude and 
liberty by which it was produced, I should have 
many things to say to him, although in general we 
perfectly coincide. He wishes one rule to be adopt- 
ed with respect to style, and I contend for that variety 
which allows of composition according to every man's 
fancy and humour. He thinks that a writer should 
always have a model before him -, I think that every 
writer should be his own model. He wishes writers 
to follow the style of others; I think that writers 
should be original, not in style alone, but in every 
other property of composition. He is unwilling that 
the writer should appear in the work ; but I think 
that an author may be permitted publicly to analyze 
his mind, and anatomize his own character, for the 
benefit of other men, rather than to leave his work 
to be dissected by a posthumous professor. He re- 
commends authors to proceed by regular steps : I 
hate to be taught by others how I ought to walk. 
He complains that it is a fashion with authors to dis- 
close their private and peculiar feelings when they 
write : I cannot altogether conceal mine when I con- 
verse with my readers. He appears not inclined 
that they should conceive themselves alone when 
they are writing ; while very frequently I write only 
that I may have the opportunity of expressing one 
word in Solitude. 

This treatise, however, contains in general many 
true and judicious criticisms ; especially towards the 
conclusion, which is filled with observations equally 
accurate and profound. The passage on which I 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 15? 

have commented is the only one through the work 
of which I disapprove ; for although the ramblings, 
the extravagancies, and the digressions of our beaux 
esprits displease me as much as they do this gentle- 
man ; yet I think that this free and easy style of 
writing, which can be acquired only in Solitude, has 
already produced a degree of liberty, which, if em- 
ployed with taste and discretion, will not only increase 
the number of useful truths, but banish from society 
the number of dangerous prejudices which still 
exist. 

The light of philosophy has been prevented from 
penetrating into many recesses, solely because the 
people follow one uniform mode in forming their 
opinions. Every man listens and looks up to the 
sentiments of his neighbour, and no one dares to de- 
viate from the ordinary mode of judgment. Men of 
knowledge and experience, who best know the art 
of appropriating to themselves the newest and most 
refined ideas of others, are, in their intercourse with 
the world, obliged to conceal them, and to follow 
the general manners of the age. But when authors, 
from the retreats of Solitude, appear before the 
public without dismay : when they study the charac- 
ters of every description of people, their manners of 
acting, their modes of thinking, and dare with 
boldness and confidence to describe things in their 
true colours, and disclose those truths which every 
man in a free country ought to be permitted to dis- 
close ; instruction will circulate gradually among 
the people, the philosophy of human life will spread 



158 ZIMMBRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Itself abroad, every man will dare to think for him- 
self, and disdain to be guided by snbtle and deceitful 
opinions of the unthinking multitude. To effect this 
revolution, however, it is necessary that writers should 
start from the common sphere of the University, 
and break through from the confined limits of self- 
concern ; their minds must be formed by an inter- 
course with men of every state and nation; they 
must neither fear the great nor despise the inferior 
classes of mankind ; they must learn to retire occa- 
sionally from the world to uninterrupted Solitude ; 
renounce the seductions of pleasure, free themselves 
from the ties of Society, and above all, become deaf 
to the praise that propagates falsehood, or the cen- 
sure that condemns truth. 

The Germans felt the Helvetic severity of those 
works which I formerly wrote ; a severity produced, 
without doubt, by my solitary life. The Spectator 
of Thuringia for four years successively defended 
me with equal vivacity and skill against the very 
heavy reproaches, that I was a peevish hypocritical 
philosopher, who was never pleased with any pro- 
duction, and who always viewed the worst side of 
things ; that nothing was sacred from the keenness 
of my criticism and the severity of my satire ; but 
that the nation was too modest, too decent, too deli- 
cate, and too virtuous, to be entertained by such 
compositions : in short, that English writers were 
insufferable to German delicacy, and of consequence 
it was impossible to endure a Swiss. 

It appears to me that such complainants con- 



ZIMMER3MANN ON SOLITUDE. 1 5Q 

found the manners of the world with the style of 
books. Harshness is certainly an unsocial quality, 
and therefore excluded from the manners of the 
world ; but, on the other hand, the truths, which 
well-written works from time to time disclose, fre- 
quently strike the mind and produce an effect. i: I 
am myself good-natured," said a poet, " but I ac- 
knowledge that my works are not.'' A writer, there- 
fore, may be civil and polite in his personal inter- 
course with mankind, and still properly severe in 
his works, Why should authors write as they speak, 
if others never speak as they think ? Is it not enough 
that when they mix in society they endeavour to 
please every one; submit without exception to what- 
ever the laws of politeness exact ; give up whatever 
is insisted on, maintain no opinions unnecessarily, 
always yield the privilege of talking to others, and 
do every thing as if they were only there to hear and 
learn ? There are, however, many beaux esprits who 
are insufferable in company, from a vain conceit 
that their writings are the last best models of ele- 
gance and urbanity ! Would not such characters act 
more wisely to correct, in their commerce with the 
world, the errors that may have escaped from their 
pens, than to restrain their pens and never check 
their tongues ? He, alas ! who in the circles of 
society is kind in his behaviour and complaisant in 
his manners, may surely be permitted once at least 
to hazard in his writings a bold or even a harsh ex- 
pression, and to insert here and there a melancholy 
truth, when so many others are occupied in circu- 
lating sprightly falsehoods. 



160 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Strength of thought is banished from the lan- 
guage of conversation. But if the freedom with 
which an author expresses himself in his writings 
be insufferable to the feelings of the world, the soft 
and meretricious language of society would be ridi- 
culous in literary composition. An author must 
speak in the language of truth ; but in society a man 
can feel it only, for he must impose a necessary 
silence upon his lips. Manners are formed by in- \ 
tercourse with the world, and characters by retiring 
into Solitude. In Solitude it will soon be discovered 
whether they have only learned the trick of com- 
plaisance, or have acquired freedom of thought, 
firmness of expression, dignity of sentiment, and 
grandeur of style. 

Solitude raises the mind to a high degree of ele- 
vation and power. The man, who has not courage 
enough to place himself above the prejudices and 
fashions of the world ; who dreads the reproach of 
singularity ; who forms and conducts himself upon 
the example of others ; will certainly never acquire 
a sufficient degree of resolution to live a life of vo- 
luntary Solitude. It has been well observed, that 
Solitude is as indispensably necessary to give a just, 
solid, firm, and forcible tone to our thoughts, as a 
knowledge of the world is to give them richness, 
brilliancy, and application. 

The mind employed on noble objects disdains the 
indolence that stains the vacant breast. The soul, 
enjoying freedom and tranquillity, exerts its ener- 
gies with superior force, and displays an extent of 
power which was before unknown; the faculties 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. l6i 

sharpen; our ideas become more clear, luminous, 
and extended 3 we see with greater perspicuity ; the 
mind, in short, exacts much more from itself in the 
leisure of Solitude than in the bustle of the world. 
The tranquillity of Solitude, however, must not de- 
generate into idle ease, into a state of mental numb- 
ness or stupefaction. It is not sufficient to be conti- 
nually gazing out of a window with a thoughtless 
mind, or gravely walking up and down our study in 
a ragged robe de chambre and worn-out slippers • 
The exterior of tranquillity gives no elevation to the 
soul, inspires no activity; but we must be persuaded 
that Solitude is necessary, and feel it a desire of the 
soul. It is then only that it affords a precious 
liberty, animating at the same instant both the rea- 
son and the imagination. 

An illustrious friend has frequently assured me, 
that he never felt so strong an inclination to write as 
during a review, when forty thousand persons left 
their houses and travelled on foot, in carriages, and 
on horseback, to observe the manoeuvres of a single 
battalion. This friend has published many excellent 
treatises upon the sciences, but he never wrote a 
trifle so full of wit and gaiety as the one he wrote at 
this review. In early yo :th I never felt so strong a 
disposition to employ mv mind on serious subjects 
as on Sunday mornings, when, far retired in the 
country, I heard the sharp and tinkling sound of the 
village bells, while all my fellow-citizens, occupied 
by their devotions, frizzed and powdered their heads 
to go to church. 



l62 Z1MMBRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Continual interruption destroys all the effects of 
Solitude. Disturbance prevents the mind from col- 
lecting its ideas. This is the reason why an esta- 
blishment frequently takes away more advantages 
than it brings. In Solitude, a man may be just what 
he wishes and what he is ; but in the world it is 
every man's pride to attend to those etiquettes which 
his station exacts ! and if the philosopher or man of 
genius* do not follow the usages of his station, they 
say of him, " This is a fool ; he only knows how to 
write books :" or, perhaps, " His writings are good, 
but as for himself, he is an ass." 

But Solitude enables a man to attack Prejudice 
and defeat Error, with as much ease and success as 
an athletic champion meets a puny adversary. Re- 
peated examinations having approximated every ob- 
ject, and rendered their properties familiar, he seizes 
truth wherever he discovers her, and ragards with 
the tranquil smile of pity those who think them- 
selves authorised to speak of her with contempt; he 
hears, without being disconcerted, the invectives 
which Envy and Prejudice throw out against him; 
and perceives a weak multitude making hue and cry 
the moment he opens his hand, and unlooses one of 
the truths which it contains. 

Solitude diminishes the number of our passions 
by forming out of a multiplicity one great desire. 
Solitude certainly may prodnce dangerous effects 
upon the passions, but, Providence be thanked! it 
may also produce the most salutary effects. If it 
disorder the mind, it is capable of effecting its cure. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. l6S 

Drawing out and separating- all the various propen- 
sities of the human heart, it collects and re-unites 
them into one. We feel and learn not only the 
nature, but the extent and influence of all the 
passions. They rise up like angry waves, and en- 
deavour to overwhelm us in the abyss : but Philosophy 
flies to our aid, divides their force, and if we do not 
yield an easy victory by neglecting all opposition to 
their attacks, Virtue and Self-denial bring gigantic 
reinforcements to our assistance, and insure success. 
Virtue and Resolution, in short, are equal to every 
conflict, the instant we learn that one passion is only 
to be conquered by another. 

The mind feels itself proudly dignified by that 
greatness of soul which we acquire by a commerce 
with ourselves j and disdaining every ignoble object, 
withdraws itself on every side from society. A 
virtuous mind observes the sons of worldly pleasure 
mingling in scenes of riot and debauchery without 
being seduced. In vain is it echoed from every side, 
that incontinence and debauchery are the earliest 
propensities ami most fashionable vices of every 
young man who wishes to know life : no, the noble 
mind feels and sees that such scenes not only 
enervate youth, and render him callous to the charms 
of virtue and the principles of honesty, but that they 
destroy every manly resolution, inspire timidity in 
the hour of danger, and defeat every great and 
glorious enterprize : that by the indulgence of liber- 
tinism, the generous warmth and fine enthusiasm of 
the soul, its noble fondness for the sublime and 



164 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

beautiful, — all its powers are lost. He, therefore, 
who retains a wish to appear great and honourable in 
the world, must renounce for ever the habits of indo- 
lence and the practices of luxury. The moment he 
ceases to injure his faculties by debauchery, and 
discontinues his attempts to renovate them by an 
excess of wine and luxurious living, he will no 
longer feel it necessary frequently to take the air, or 
to consume the whole day on horseback. 

All men without exception have something to 
learn. Whatever may be the distinguished rank 
which they hold in society, they can never be truly 
great but by their personal merit. The more the 
faculties of the mind are exercised in the tranquillity 
of retirement, the more conspicuous they appear; 
and should the pleasures of debauchery be the ruling 
passion, O young man ! learn that nothing will so 
easily subdue it as an encreasing emulation in great 
and virtuous actions, a hatred of idleness and frivo- 
lity, the study of the sciences, a frequent commu- 
nion with thy own heart, and that high and digni- 
fied spirit, which views with disdain every thing that 
is vile and contemptible. 

This generous pride discovers itself with dignity 
and greatness in the retreats of Solitude, where the 
passion for sublime objects operates with greater 
freedom than in any other situation. The passion 
which carried Alexander into Asia confined Diogenes 
to his tub. Heraclitus quitted the throne to devote 
himself to the search of truth. He who wishes to 
render his writings useful to mankind must first 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. lOj 

study the world, not too intensely, or with any 
fondness for its follies. The follies of the world 
enervate and destroy the vigour of the mind. Caesar 
tore himself from the embraces of Cleopatra, and 
became the master of the empire ; but Antony took 
her as a mistress to his arms, and by his effeminacy 
lost not only his life, but the world. 

Solitude, it is true, inspires notions too high and 
exalted for the livel of common life. But high and 
exalted minds support themselves on heights which 
would turn the heads of degenerated men. The 
faculties acquired by Solitude improve the feelings 
of the heart, and the mind soars beyond the condi- 
tion of mortality. Every day in the life of a man of 
the world seems as if he expected it would be the 
last of his existence; he seems to think that all hap- 
piness depends upon his being present at a favourite 
diversion, presiding at a club ; knowing a celebrated 
conjurer, patronizing a new boxer, or admiring some 
foreign novelty which the hand-bills of the day have 
announced. 

I feel the warmest emotions whenever I recollect 
this passage in Plutarch : " I live," says he, " en- 
tirely upon history, and while I contemplate the 
pictures it presents to my view, my mind enjoys a 
rich repast from the representation of great and vir- 
tuous characters. If the actions of men, which I 
must necessarily look into, produce some instances 
of vice, corruption, and dishonesty, I endeavour, ne- 
vertheless, to remove the impression, or to defeat its 
effect. My mind withdraws itself from the scene, 



166 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and, free from every ignoble passion, I attach myself 
to those high examples of virtue which are so agree- 
able and satisfactory, and which accord so completely 
with the genuine feelings of our nature." 

The soul, winged by these sublime images, flies 
from the earth, mounts as it proceeds, and casts the 
eye of disdain on those surrounding clouds which 
gravitate to the world, and obstruct it's flight. At- 
taining a certain height, the faculties of the mind 
open, and reveal the inclination of the heart. It is 
wise and glorious to attempt every achievement ; for 
that which is not physically impossible may always 
be morally performed. How many dormant ideas 
may be awakened by exertion: and then, what a 
variety of early impressions, which were seemingly 
forgotten, revive, and present themselves to our pens ! 
We may always accomplish much more than we con- 
ceive, provided we do not relax in the proper exer- 
cise of the mind | provided passion fans the fire which 
imagination has lighted ; for life is insupportable, if 
it be not animated by the soft affections of the heart. 

A state of existence without passion is, in Soli- 
tude as well as in every other situation of life, the 
death of the soul.* Disease and long suffering, after 

* The force of the passions/' says a great philosopher, 
can alone counterbalance in the human mind the effects of 
indolence and inactivity, steal us from that repose and tor- 
pidity towards which we incessantly gravitate, and at 
length endow the mind with that continuity of attention to 
which superiority of talent is attached." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 167 

I ceased to breathe my native air, occasionally re- 
duced me, during many years, to this horrible con- 
dition. Those amongst whom I lived, and who were 
ignorant of my real situation, thought that I was sullen, 
and expected every moment that I should angrily 
seize the lance of satire ; but I passed quietly on my 
way, and resigned myself with care and cordiality to 
the beneficent employments of my profession. While 
the rage against me was general, I remained per- 
fectly insensible, and preserved an inviolable silence. 
The languors of sickness, the tortures of a wounded 
heart, the oppression of domestic misfortunes, had 
vanquished my mind, and rendered it insensible to 
every other concern. My brain continued, during 
several years, as obdurate as marble : I passed many 
hours, day after day, without a thought : uttering 
frequently the direct contrary to what I meant; 
scarcely taking any nourishment ; deriving no sup- 
port from that which strengthens others ; expecting 
every step I took to fall to the ground ; and suffer- 
ing the most excruciating pain whenever I sat down 
to write. I was lost to the world and its concerns, 
and felt no interest except only in the secret object 
of my chagrin, which I kept closely locked within 
my bleeding heart. 

The passions have no existence until the corpo- 
real organs are capable of indulging the natural dis- 
positions of the heart. The mind, therefore, ought 
to be kept in a state of constant exercise ; for the 
soul, acting only by means of these corporeal organs, 
its operations, whether in the tranquillity of Solitude 



168 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

or in the hurry of the world, can never produce any- 
thing great if intercepted by these subaltern agents. 
Solitude, it is certain, affords happiness to the heart 
in every period of our lives, and leads the mind to 
the fertile sources of every great conception; but, 
alas ! it is not always in our power to enjoy it. How 
passionately fond of Solitude would every noble- 
minded youth become, if he were capable of perceiv- 
ing the variety of grand ideas, sublime sentiments, 
and profound knowledge, which he might there ac- 
quire in the earliest periods of his infancy ! A wise 
old-age finds its happiest days in the retreats of So- 
litude. The mind there thinks with dignity and 
ease. In the tranquillity of retirement, we see how 
every thing ought to be conducted ; while, in society, 
we only see how things are carried on. Uninter" 
rupted reflection and profound thought inspire the 
greatest works which the human mind is capable of 
producing ; while, in society, the intellectual spirit 
evaporates by its continual attention to trifling ob- 
jects. The charm of Solitude makes men forget the 
cares of life, teaches them to despise every thing 
that belongs to earth, where they suffer their minds 
to lie fallow, abandoned to weeds, or a prey to the 
beasts of the field. 

An enthusiasm for great achievements extin- 
guishes all consideration for trifling objects. This is 
the reason why, in conducting little concerns, com- 
mon sense* is much more useful than genius. The 

* " A man of common sense," says Helvetius, " is a 
man in whose character indolence predominates. He is not 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 169 

ordinary occupations of life destroy the enthusiasm of 
genius, which nothing will so effectually restore as 
Solitude and leisure. The philosophic observer and 
profound writer, therefore, have no other resource, 
when they are surrounded and encumbered by a 
multiplicity of affairs. Misunderstood and ridiculed, 
their souls sicken under general obloquy, and become 
as it were extinct : they have no inducement to un- 
dertake any great and distinguishing work, when 
they are convinced that envy and malice will endea- 
vour to turn it into ridicule the moment it is known 
by whose pen it was produced. The desire of fame 
dies, where merit is no longer rewarded by praise. 
But remove such a writer or philosopher from the 
multitude; give him liberty, leisure, pens, ink and 
paper, and he is revenged; and his writings will 
then excite the admiration of nations. A great va- 
riety of men, who possess extraordinary talents, re- 
main undistinguished, only because their minds lan- 
guish under employments, which do not require the 
aid of thought ; and which, for that reason, are much 
better suited to the ignorant vulgar than the refined 
philosopher. 

Solitude leads genius to its proper sphere. The 
mind rejoices in being restored to its faculties, and 

endowed with that activity of soul which, in high stations, 
1 eads great minds to discover new springs by which they 
may set the world in motion, or to sow those se^eds from 
the growth of which they are enabled to produce future 
events." 



170 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

derives pleasures from pursuits which vulgar minds 
disdain. The hatred which is generally entertained 
against solitary men frequently proves a source of 
enviable happiness. It would indeed be a great mis- 
fortune to him who is meditating in tranquillity the 
performance of some great and important work, if 
he were universally beloved ; for every one would 
then be anxious to visit him ; he would be pestered 
with invitations to dinner ; and the first question in 
all companies would be, " Will he come?" Happily, 
however, philosophers are not, in general, the favour- 
ites of the world; and they have the pleasure of 
reflecting that public hatred is never excited against 
an ordinary man. There is always something U 
great in that man against whom the world exclaims, 
at whom every one throws a stone, to whose con- 
duct all impute a thousand absurdities, and on I 
whose character all attempt to affix a thousand crimes 
without being able to prove one. The fate of a man 
of genius who lives retired and unknown is still more 
enviable ; for he will not only enjoy the advantages 
of Solitude, but, expecting his sentiments to be dis- 
liked or misunderstood, he will not be chagrined by 
the stupid vulgar condemning whatever he writes or 
says, or surprised that the efforts of his friends to 
undeceive the public with respect to his merit should 
prove useless. 

Such was, with respect to the multitude, the fate 
of the Count Schaumbourg-Lippe, better known by 
the title of the Count de Buckebourg. Of all the 
German authors, I never knew one whose writings 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 171 

were more ridiculed or so little understood ; and yet 
his name was worthy of being enrolled among the 
greatest characters of his age or country. I became 
acquainted with him at a time when he lived almost 
continually in Solitude,, retired from the world, ma- 
naging his small estate with great discretion. There 
was indeed something in his manner and appearance 
which at first sight created disgust, and obscured the 
brilliant qualities of his mind. 

The Count de Lacy, formerly ambassador from 
Spain to Petersburgh, informed me at Hanover, that 
he led the Spanish army against the Portuguese at 
the time they were commanded by the Count de 
Buckebourg; the singularity of whose person and 
manners so forcibly struck the minds of all the 
Spanish generals, while they were reconnoitring the 
enemy with their telescopes, that they exclaimed with 
one voice, " Are the Portuguese commanded by Don 
Quixote V The ambassador, however, who possessed 
a very liberal mind, spoke with enthusiastic rapture 
of the good conduct of Buckebourg in Portugal, and 
praised in the warmest terms the excellence of his 
mind and the greatness of his character. His heroic 
countenance, his flowing hair, his tall and meagre 
figure, and above all, the extraordinary length of his 
visage, might, in truth, bring back the recollection 
of the Knight of La Mancha ; for certain it is, that 
at a distance he made a most romantic appearance ; 
on a nearer approach, however, a closer view imme- 
diately convinced you of the contrary. The fire and 
animation of his features announced the elevation, 



\72 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

sagacity, penetration, kindness, virtue, and serenity 
of his soul. Sublime sentiments and heroic thoughts 
were as familiar and natural to his mind, as they 
were to the noblest characters of Greece and Rome. 
The Count was born in London, and possessed a 
disposition as whimsical as it was extraordinary. The 
anecdotes concerning him, which 1 heard from his 
relation, a German Prince, are perhaps not generally 
known. He was fond of contending with the English 
in every thing. For instance, he laid a wager that 
he would ride a horse from London to Edinburgh 
backwards, that is, with the horse's head turned 
towards Edinburgh and the Count's face towards Lon- 
don ; and in this manner he actually rode through 
several counties in England. He not only traversed 
the greatest part of that kingdom on foot, but travel- 
led in company with a German Prince through seve- 
ral of the counties in the character of a beggar. 
Being informed that part of the current of the Danube, 
ttbove Ratisbon, was so strong and rapid, that no one 
had ever dared to swim across it, he made the attempt, 
and swam so far that it was^with difficulty he saved 
his life. A great statesman and profound philosopher 
related to me at Hanover, that, during the war in 
which the Count commanded the artillery in the 
army of Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick against the 
French, he one day invited several Hanoverian officers 
to dine with him in his tent. When the company 
were in high spirits and full of gaiety, several cannon- 
balls flew in different directions about the tent. 
" The French/' exclaimed the officers, " cannot be 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 173 

far off."— « No, no," replied the Count, " the 
enemy, I assure you, are at a great distance ;" and lie 
desired them to keep their seats. The firing- soon 
after recommenced ; when one of the balls carrying 
away the top of the tent, the officers rose suddenly 
from their chairs, exclaiming, "The French are 
here." — " No,'' replied the Count, * 4 the French are 
not here; and therefore, gentlemen, I desire you 
will again sit down, and rely upon my word." The 
balls continued to fly about ; the officers however 
continued to eat and drink without apprehension, 
though not without whispering their conjectures to 
each other upon the singularity of their entertain- 
ment. The Count at length rose from the table, 
and, addressing himself to the company, said, " Gen- 
tlemen, I was willing to convince you how well I can 
rely upon the officers of my artillery ; for I ordered 
them to fire durino* the time we continued at dinner, 
at the pinnacle of the tent ; and they have executed 
my orders with great punctuality." 

Curious and reflecting minds will not be unthank- 
ful for these traits of the character of a man anxious 
to exercise himself and those under his command in 
every arduous enterprize Being one day in com- 
pany with the Count by the side of a magazine of 
gunpowder, which he had made under his bed- 
chamber in Fort Willie! mstein, I observed to him 
that " I should not sleep very contentedly ther e 
during some of the hot nights of summer." The 
Count, however, convinced me, though I do not now 
recollect how, that the greatest danger and no danger 



174 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

are one and the same thing. When I first saw this 
extraordinary man, which was in the company of 
two officers, the one English, the other Portuguese, 
he entertained me for two hours with a discourse 
upon the physiology of Haller, whose works he knew 
by heart. The ensuing morning, he insisted on my 
accompanying him in a little boat, which he rowed 
himself, to Fort Wilhelmstein, which he had con- 
structed in the middle of the water, from plans which 
he shewed me of his own drawing, and where not a 
foot of land was to be seen. On Sunday, upon the 
great parade at Pyrmont, surrounded by many thou- 
sand men, who were occupied in dress, dancing, and 
gallantries, he entertained me during the course of 
two hours, and with as much tranquillity as if we had 
been alone, by detailing the various controversies 
respecting the existence of God, pointing out their 
defective parts, and convincing me that he could 
surpass them all. To prevent my escape, he held me 
fast by the button of my coat. He shewed me, at 
his seat at Buckebourg, a large folio volume in his 
own hand- writing, <( On the art of defending a small 
Town against a great Power." The work was com- 
pletely finished, and designed as a present to the 
king of Portugal ; but he did me the favour to read 
many passages respecting Swisserland. The Count 
considered the Swiss invincible ; and pointed out to 
me not only all the important posts which they 
might occupy against an enemy, but slie wed me roads 
through which a cat would scarcely be able to crawl. 
I do not believe that any thing was ever written of 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 175 

higher importance to the interests of any country 
than this work ; fcr the manuscript contains striking 
answers to all the objections that a Swiss himself 
could make. My friend, M. Moses Mendelssohn, to 
whom the Count had read the preface to this work 
at Pynnont, considered it as a master-piece, both for 
its correct language and fine philosophy ; for the 
Count could write the French language with almost 
the same ease, elegance, and purity, as Voltaire : 
while in the German he was laboured, perplexed, 
and diffused. What adds to his praise is, that upon 
his return to Portugal, he had with him for many 
years two of the most acute masters of Germany ; 
first Abbt, and afterwards Herder. Those who see 
with more penetrating eyes than mine, and have 
had more opportunities to make observations, are 
able to relate a variety of remarkable anecdotes con- 
cerning this truly great and extraordinary man. I 
shall only add one observation more respecting his 
character, availing myself of the words of Shak- 
speare : the Count William de Schaumbourg-Lippe 
carries no dagger ; 

" He has a lean and hungry look — 

— but he's not dangerous ; 

he reads much ; 



He is a great observer ; and he looks 

Ruite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays ; 

he hears no music ; 

Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort, 
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn* d his spirit 
Thate could be mov'd to smile at any thing." 

Julius C<zsar, Act, I. Scene 4, 



176 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Such was the character, always misunderstood, 
of this solitary man. A character of this description 
may well indulge the smile of scorn, when he per- 
ceives himself scoffed at by the world; but what 
must be the shame and confusion of those partial 
judges, when they behold the monument which the 
great Mendelssohn has erected to his memory ; or 
the judicious history of his life, which a young au- 
thor is about to publish at Hanover ; the profound 
sentiments, the noble style, the truth and sincerity 
of which will be discovered and acknowledged by 
impartial posterity. 

The men who laugh, as I have seen them laugh 
a thousand times, at Buckebourg, on account of his 
long visage, his flowing hair, his great hat, andlittle 
sword, might be pardoned, if, like the Count, they 
were philosophers and heroes. The Count, however, 
never smiled at the world, or upon men, but with 
kindness. Without hatred, without misanthropy, 
he enjoyed the tranquillity of his rural retreat, deep 
embosomed in a thick forest, generally alone or in 
the company of his wife 3 for whom, while living, he 
did not appear to entertain any extraordinary fond- 
ness ; but when she died, his affection for her was 
so great that her death brought him almost to the 
grave. 

The people of Athens laughed thus at Themis- 
tocles. They even reviled him openly as he passed 
along the streets, because he did not possess the 
manners of the world, the ton of good company, and 
was ignorant of that accomplishment w r hich is called 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 177 

genteel breeding : one day however he retorted upon 
these railers with the keenest asperity. u It is true," 
said he, " I never learned to tune a lyre, or to play 
upon a lute,- but I know how to raise a small and 
inconsiderable city to greatness and to glory !" 

Solitude and philosophy therefore, although they 
may inspire sentiments and manners which appear 
ludicrous to the eye of worldly folly, banish every 
mean and sordid idea from the mind, and prepare it 
for the grandest and most sublime conceptions. He 
who is accustomed to study the characters of great 
men, and to admire elevated sentiments, will almost 
imperceptibly adopt a romantic style of thinking, 
which may frequently excite the smile of ridicule. 
The romantic mind always views things differently 
from what they are or ever can be ; and a constant 
habit of contemplating the sublime and beautiful 
renders such characters, in the eyes of the weak and 
wicked, ridiculous and insupportable. The nobleness 
of soul, which men of this description always disco- 
ver, is frequently offensive to the fashionable world ; 
but it is not on that account less noble. The philo- 
sophers of India annually quitted their solitude to 
visit the palace of the king, when each of them, in 
his turn, delivered his voice upon the government of 
the state, and upon the changes and limitations 
which might be made in the laws. He who three 
successive times communicated false or unimportant 
observations lost for one year the privilege of speak- 
ing in the presence of the sovereign. There are 
many other romantic philosophers who would require 

i 3 



178 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

much more, but would do nothing. Plotinus re- 
quested the emperor Galienus to confer upon him 
the sovereignty of a small city in Campania, and the 
lands appendant to it. The city was to be called 
Platonopolis ; for Plotinus had promised to reside 
there with his friends and followers, and realize the 
republic of Plato. But it happened then, as it 
frequently happens now in many courts to philoso- 
phers much less chimerical than Plotinus— the cour- 
tiers laughed at the proposal, and told the emperor 
that the philosopher was a fool, whose mind even 
experience could not reform. 

Pictures of the greatness and virtue of the an- 
cients produce, in Solitude, the happiest influence 
upon minds susceptible of those ideas and sentiments. 
Sparks of that bright flame, which warmed the 
bosoms of the great and good, sometimes operate 
the most unexpected effects. To cheer the drooping 
spirits of a lady in the country, whose health was 
impaired by a nervous affection, I advised her to 
read very frequently the history of the Greek and 
Roman empires. At the expiration of three months 
she wrote to me, " With what veneration for anti- 
quity have you inspired my mind ! What are the 
buzzing race of the present age, when compared 
with those noble characters ? History heretofore was 
not my favourite study ; now I live only on its pages. 
I feel, during the progress of my study, the strongest 
inclination to become acquainted with all the trans- 
actions of Greece and Rome. It has not only 
opened to me an inexhaustible source of pleasure, 



2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 179 

but restored me to health. I could not have be- 
lieved that my library contained so inestimable a 
treasure; it will become dearer to me than any thing 
I possess. In the course of six months you will no 
longer be troubled with my complaints. My Plutarch 
has already become more valuable to me than all 
the triumphs of coquetry, or all that sentimental 
writing addressed to ladies in the country who are 
inclined to be all heart, and with whom Satan plays 
tricks of love with the same address as a dilletante 
plays tricks of music on the violin." This lady> 
who, I confess is learned, gives me further informa- 
tion respecting* the conduct of her kitchen, and the 
management of her poultry-yard ; but she has reco- 
vered her health, and I think will hereafter find as 
much pleasure in house-keeping and feeding her 
chickens, as she did formerly from the pages of 
Plutarch. 

The history of the grandeur and virtue of the 
ancients cannot operate for any length of time, ex- 
cept in the tranquillity of retirement, or among a 
select circle of friends ; but it may produce in the 
event the happiest effects. The mind of a man of 
genius is, during his solitary walks, filled with a 
great crowd of ideas which appear ridiculous to his 
fellow-citizens; but it is by such ideas that men are 
led to perform actions worthy of immortality. The 
Swiss songs composed by Lavater appeared at a time 
unfavourable to their reception, and when the Repub- 
lic was in a declining state. The Swiss Society of 
Schintzuach, who had prevailed upon that ardent 



180 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

genius to compose those songs, offended the French 
ambassador ; and, from that time, the society was 
exclaimed against from every corner of the kingdom. 
The great Haller himself pointed his epigrams 
against the members in every letter which I received 
from him ; for they had long refused to admit him 
into the society. He considered us as enemies to 
orthodoxy, and as ? disciples of Jean Jacques Rous- 
seau, a man hateful to his eyes. At Zurich, the 
president of the Committee for the Reformation of 
Literature prohibited the Swiss songs of Lavater, 
from the excellent motive, that it was not proper to 
stir up the old dunghill. No poet of Greece how- 
ever wrote with more fire and force in favour of his 
oountry than Lavater did for the interests of Swisser- 
land. I have heard children chaunt these songs 
with patriotic enthusiasm, and seen the finest eyes 
filled with tears while their ears listened to the singer. 
Rapture glowed in the breasts of the Swiss peasants 
to whom they were sung, their muscles swelled, the 
blood inflamed their cheeks. Fathers have, within 
my own knowledge, carried their infant children to 
the chapel of William Tell, to sing in full chorus the 
song which Lavater wrote upon the merits of that 
great man. I have made the rocks re-echo to my 
voice, by singing these songs to the music which my 
heart composed for them in the fields ; and upon 
those celebrated mountains where these heroes, the 
ancestors of our race, signalized themselves by their 
immortal valour, I thought myself encompassed by 
their venerable shades. I fancied that I saw them 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 181 

still armed with their knotted clubs, breaking to 
pieces the crowned helmets of Germany ; and, al- 
though inferior in numbers, forcing the proud nobi- 
lity to seek their safety by a precipitate and ignomi- 
nious flight. 

This, I shall perhaps be told, is romantic ! for 
romantic ideas can only please solitary and recluse 
men, who always see objects in a different point of 
view from the multitude around them.- Great ideas, 
however, sometimes penetrate in spite of the most 
obstinate resistance. In republics they operate 
insensibly, and inspire elevated sentiments, which 
may become extensively useful in times of trouble 
and commotion. 

Every thing unites, in Solitude, to raise the soul, 
and fortify the human character ; because the mind 
there habituates itself, much better than in the 
world, to noble sentiments and heroic resolutions. 
The solitary man possesses a charm against all the 
shafts of envy, hatred, and malice. Resolved to 
think and to act, upon every occasion, in opposition 
to the sentiments of narrow minds, he attends to all 
the contrarieties he meets with, but is astonished at 
none. Entertaining a just and rational esteem for 
friends; but sensible also that the} 7 , like enemies, 
generally indulge their feelings to excess, that all of 
them are partial, and inclined to form too favourable 
a judgment; he appeals to the public : not indeed to 
the public of his own city, who always consider the 
person and not the thing in controversy, and who 
never decide until they have heard the opinions of 



182 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

two or three beaux esprits ; but he appeals to the 
world at large, at whose impartial tribunal he ap- 
pears, and, with his works in his hand, demands the 
justice that is due. 

But it is commonly thought that Solitude, by 
elevating the sentiments, renders the mind unfit for 
business: this, however, I do not believe. On the 
contrary, it must be highly beneficial to raise the 
soul, and to exercise the mind in such a manner as 
will prevent our becoming victims to the events of 
public life. The love of truth is preserved by Soli- 
tude, and virtue there acquires a greater firmness ; 
but I acknowledge that, in business, truth is some- 
times inconvenient ; and rigid virtue is not always 
propitious to the affairs of life. 

The virtue and simplicity of manners which 
Solitude produces are revered by the great and good 
of every clime. It was these inestimable qualities 
which, during the highest fury of the war between 
England and France, obtained the philosophic Jean 
Andre de Luc the reception he met with at the court 
of Versailles, and inspired the breast of the virtuous 
the immortal DeVergennes with the desire to reform, 
by philosophy, those citizens of Geneva, who had 
resisted all the power of the prime-minister of France. 
De Luc, at the request of Vergennes, made the 
attempt ; but failed of success 5 and France, as it is 
well known, was obliged to send an army to reclaim 
the Genevese. It was upon his favourite mountains 
that this amiable philosopher acquired that simplicity 
of manners, which he still preserves amidst all the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 183 

luxury of London ; where he endures with firmness 
all the wants, refuses all the indigencies, and sub- 
dues all the desires of social life. At Hanover I 
could only remark one single instance of luxury in 
which De Luc indulged himself; when any thing 
vexed his mind, he chewed a little morsel of sugar ; 
and, of course, always carried a small supply of it in 
his pocket. 

Solitude not only creates simplicity of manners, 
but prepares and strengthens the faculties for the 
toils of busy life. Fostered in the bosom of retire- 
ment, the mind feels a greater degree of activity 
when it engages in the transactions of the world, and 
retires again into tranquillity to repose itself, and 
prepare for new conflicts. Pericles, Phocion, Epa- 
minondas, laid the foundation of all their greatness 
in Solitude ; they there acquired that style which is 
not to be learned in the forum of the university — 
the style of their future lives and actions. When 
the mind of Pericles was occupied by important 
objects, he never appeared in the streets except to 
transact his business, and instantly renounced feast- 
ings, public assemblies, and every other pleasure of 
the kind. While the administration of the affairs 
of the republic was in his hands, he only went 
once to sup with a friend, and came early away. 
Phocion immediately resigned himself to the study 
of philosophy, not from the ostentatious motive of 
being called a wise man, but to place himself in a 
condition to conduct the business of the state with 



184 2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

greater resolution and effect.* The people were 
astonished, and enquired of each other when and by 
what means Epaminondas, after having passed his 
whole life in study, had not only learned, but, as it 
were, all at once exercised, the military art in its 
highest perfection. He was frugal of his time, de- 
voted his mind entirely to the delights of litera- 
ture ; and, ilesiring nothing so much as to be exempt 
from business, withdrew himself from every public 
employment His country forced him from the re- 
treats of Solitude, gave him the command of the 
army, and he saved the republic. 

The character of Petrarch, which I never con- 
template but with increasing sensibility, was formed 
in Solitude; and he was thus rendered capable of 
transacting the most complicated political affairs. 
Petrarch was, without doubt, at all times, what per- 
sons very frequently become in Solitude; choleric, 
satirical, and petulant. He has been reproached 
with great severity for the lively pictures he has 
drawn of the manners of his age, and particularly 
for his description of the scenes of infamy which 
were transacted at Avignon, under the reign of Pope 
Clement the Sixth. But Petrarch was perfectly ac- 
quainted with the human heart, knew how to manage 

* Thus Tacitus speaks of Helvidius Priscus : ' Inge- 
nium illustre altioribus studiis juvenis admodum dedit, non 
ut magnifico nomine otium velaret, sed quo firmior, adversus 
fortuita rempublicam capesseret." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 185 

the passions with uncommon dexterity, and to con- 
duct them directly to his purpose. The Abbe de 
Sades, the best historian of his life, says, " Petrarch 
was scarcely known, except as a tender and elegant 
poet, who loved with unextinguishable ardour, and 
sung in all the harmony of verse the graces of his 
mistress " And was nothing more known of his 
character? His contemporaries, alas ! were ignorant 
of the obligations that literature, long buried in the 
ruins of barbarity, owes to his pen ; that he saved the 
best works of antiquity from dust and rottenness; 
that many of those precious treasures which have 
since contributed to enlighten the world would have 
been lost, if he had not digested them from the 
grave, and procured them to be correctly copied; 
that he was the restorer of the belies Iettres in 
Europe ; purified the taste of the age ; and wrote 
himself like an illustrious citizen of ancient Rome ! 
that he extirpated the prevailing prejudices of his 
time, preserved his courage and his firmness till the 
hour of his death, and surpassed in his last work all 
those which had preceded it. Still less were they 
informed that Petrarch was an able statesman, to 
whom the most celebrated sovereigns of his age con- 
fided every difficult negociation, and consulted in 
their most important concerns ; that in the four- 
teenth century he possessed a degree of fame, credit, 
and influence, which no man of learning of the pre- 
sent day has ever acquired; that three popes, an 
emperor, a sovereign of France, a king of Naples, 
a croud of cardinals, the greatest princes, the most 



185 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

illustrious nobility of Italy, cultivated his friendship, 
and solicited his correspondence ; that, as a states- 
man, a minister, an ambassador, he was employed in 
transacting some of the greatest affairs of the age -, 
that he was thereby placed in a situation to instruct 
them in the most useful and important truths. But it 
was to Solitude alone that he owed all this power, that 
no person was better acquainted with its advantages, 
cherished it with greater fondness, or resounded its 
praises with higher energy ; and he at length pre- 
ferred liberty and leisure to all the enjoyments of the 
world. He appeared a long time enervated by love, 
to which he had consecrated the prime of his life ; 
but he suddenly abandoned the soft and effeminate 
tone in which he sighed at Laura's feet 3 addressed 
himself with manly boldness to kings, to emperors, 
to popes ; and ever afterwards maintained that con- 
fidence which fine talents and a great character always 
inspire.* With an eloquence worthy of Demosthenes 
and Cicero, he exhorted the princes of Italy to make 
peace among themselves, and to unite their powers 
against their common enemies the barbarians, who 

* " His Latin works of philosophy, poetry, and elo- 
quence," says Mr. Gibbon, " established his serious reputa- 
tion, which was soon diffused from Avignon over France and 
Italy : his friends and disciples were multiplied in every 
city ; and if the ponderous volume of his writings be now 
abandoned to a long repose, our gratitude must applaud the 
man who by precept and example revived the spirit and 
study of the Augustan age." — Translator. 



Z1MMEHMANN ON SOLITUDE. 187 

tore to pieces the very bosom of their country. He 
encouraged, guided, and supported Rienzi, who ap- 
peared like a guardian-angel sent from Heaven to 
re-establish the original splendour of the city of 
Rome.* He incited a pusillanimous emperor to 
penetrate into the heart of Italy, and to seize, as the 
successor of the Caesars, the government of the em- 
pire. He conjured the popes to replace the holy 
chair, which they had transported to the borders of 
the Rhine, once more upon the banks of the Tiber. 
At a time when he acknowledges in one of his 
writings, that his mind was filled with vexation, his 
bosom tormented by an unextinguishable passion, 
disgusted with the conduct of men, and tired with 
public life, Pope Clement the Sixth, who, without 
doubt, was ignorant of what was passing in his heart, 
intrusted him with a negociation of great difficulty 
to the court of Naples. Petrarch undertook the 
charge. He confessed that the life of a court had 
rendered him ambitious, busy, and enterprising; 
and that it was laughable to behold a hermit, accus- 
tomed to live in woods and traverse the plains, now 
running through the magnificent palaces of cardinals, 
with a crowd of courtiers in his suite. When John 
Visconti, Archbishop and Prince of Milan, and sove- 
reign of all Lombardy, a man who united the finest 
talents with an ambition so insatiable that it threat- 
ened to swallow up all Italy, had the happiness to 

* For a concise and elegant history of the birth and for* 
tunes of this extraordinary man, see the 12th vol. of Gib- 
bon's Roman Empire, p. 331. 8vo. edit. — Translator. 



1S8 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

fix Petrarch in his interests, and by inducing him to 
undertake the office of private secretary, to gain 
every thing that could accompany such an acquisition, 
a philosopher and man of learning, who esteemed 
Solitude above any other situation; the friends of 
Petrarch exclaimed, " How ! this bold republican, 
who breathed no sentiments but those of liberty and 
independence ; this untamed bull, who spurned at 
the shadow of the yoke ; who disdained to wear any 
other fetters than those of Love, and frequently 
found even these too heavy ; who refused so many 
advantageous offers from the court of Rome, and 
pieferred his liberty to the enslaving charms of gold, 
now voluntarily submits to the shackles of an Italian 
tyrant $ this misanthrope, who could no longer exist 
but in rural tranquillity ; this great apostle of Soli- 
tude, has at length quietly fixed his habitation 
amidst the tumults of Milan !"— " My friends," 
replied Petrarch, "you are perfectly right; man has 
not a greater enemy than himself* I have acted con- 
trary to my inclination, and against my own senti- 
ment. Alas ! in all the transactions of our lives, we 
do those things we ought not to do, and leave undone 
those things to which we are most inclined." But 
Petrarch might have told his friends, " I was inclined 
to give you an example of what a man is able to do 
in the affairs of the world, when he has sufficiently 
exercised the powers of his mind in Solitude ; and 
to convince you, that a previous retirement confers 
liberty, firmness, expression, solidity, dignity, and 
nobility, upon all the transactions of public life.'* 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 189 

Aversion from the commerce of the world, and 
the frivolous employments of the metropolis, in- 
spires the mind with a sufficient degree of courage to 
despise the prejudices of the age, and the opinions 
of the multitude ; a courage which is therefore sel- 
dom found, except among solitary men. The com- 
merce of the world, far from fortifying the soul, 
only weakens it ; in the same manner that enjoyment, 
too frequently repeated, blunts the edge of every 
pleasure. Oh ! how frequently the best plans fail 
of success, from difficulties of execution; notwith- 
standing the accuracy and excellency with which 
they are formed. How many happy thoughts have 
been stifled at the moment of their birth, from a 
fear that they were too bold! When a literary 
work appears, the excellence of its matter and the 
elegance of its composition are overlooked. The 
reader endeavours to pick out some latent inatten- 
tion of the author; construes every expression con- 
trary to its import; perceives a vein of satire where 
in fact no satire exists, where it would be impossible 
that there should be any; and disfigures even those 
respectable truths which the author discloses in the 
sincerity of his heart, and for which every just and 
honest mind will silently thank him. 

The president Montesquieu experienced this 
treatment at Paris, in the meridian of his splendour; 
and for this reason he has observed, in the defence of 
his immortal work, The Spirit of Laws,—" No- 
thing stifles knowledge more than covering every 
thing with a doctor's robe ; for the men who are con- 



ICjO ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

tinually teaching are great impediments to learning. 
There is no genius that is not contracted, when it is 
enveloped by a million of vain scruples. Although 
you have the best intentions that were ever formed, 
they will even force the mind to doubt its own inte- 
grity. You can no longer employ your endeavours 
to speak or to write with propriety, when you are 
perplexed with the fear of expressing yourself ill, 
and when, instead of pursuing your thoughts you are 
only busy in selecting such terms as may escape the 
subtlety of the critics. They seem inclined to place 
a biggin on our heads, and to warn us at every word, 
Take care you do not fall. You would speak like 
yourself, but I would have you speak like me. If 
you attempt to soar, they pull you by the sleeve, and 
impede your flight. If you write with life and spirit, 
they instantly deprive you of it. If you rise to some 
height, they take out their rule or their compass, 
and, lifting up their heads, desire you to come down, 
that they may measure you : and, in running your 
course, they advise you to take notice of all the im- 
pediments which the grubs of literature have raised 
jn your way." 

Montesquieu says, " that no degree of know- 
ledge or learning is proof against this pedantry." 
But did he not himself resist it? Does not his work 
continue to be reprinted? Is it not read with uni- 
versal applause ? 

The writer who knows and dares to paint the 
characters of men, must, without doubt, wear a 
triple shield upon his breast : but, on the other hand, 



ZIMME11MANN ON SOLITUDE. l(jl 

there is no book worth reading that is not written in 
this style. Every good work contains truths, against 
which the indignation of those whom they affect 
will naturally arise. Why do the English so far sur- 
pass us in their speculations upon mankind? Why 
do we appear so puerile, when compared with them, 
or with the Greek and Roman writers, on every sub- 
ject that respects the description of human manners ? 
It proceeds from the clamours which are raised 
against every author, who hazards any opinions upon 
the philosophy of life for the general benefit of man- 
kind. We who honour, in so high a degree, the cou- 
rage of the warrior, why, like effeminate Sybarites, 
do the foldings of a rose-bud trouble our repose ? 
Why do we vomit forth injuries against that civil cou- 
rage, the courage without arms, the ' domesticas for- 
titudines' of Cicero? 

The idea that there is neither heart nor spirit 
except in republics, that under the democratic form 
of government alone people may speak the truth with 
freedom and safety, is not well-founded. It is true 
that in aristocracies, and even under governments 
much more free, but where a single demagogue pos- 
sesses the sovereign power, common sense is fre- 
quently considered as a crime. The absurdity ren- 
ders the mind timid ; and, of course, deprives the 
people of all their liberty. But in a monarchy, 
punishment is, in almost every instance, prescribed 
by the laws of justice ; while in republics it is in- 
flicted by prejudice, passion, and state-necessity. 



1Q2 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Under a republican form of government, the first 
maxim parents inculcate into the minds of their chil- 
dren is, not to make themselves enemies. To this 
sage counsel I remember replying, when I was very 
young, " My dear mother, do you not know, that 
it is only a poor man who has no enemies ?'' In 
many republics the citizen is under the authority 
and jealous observation of a multitude of sovereigns ; 
but, in a monarchy, the prince is the only man on 
whom his subjects are dependent. The number of 
masters in a republic crushes the spirit ; but, in a 
monarchy, love and confidence in one alone raises 
the spirits, and renders the people happy. In every 
country however the rational man, who re- 
nounces all the useless conversations of the world, 
who lives a life of Solitude, and who, superior to 
every thing that he sees, to all that he hears, forms 
the integrity of his mind in the tranquillity of re- 
tirement, by an intercourse with the heroes of 
Greece, of Rome, and of Great Britain, lays a 
permanent foundation for his future character, and 
acquires a noble style of thinking beyond the reach 
of vulgar invective or caprice. 

These are the observations I had to make respect- 
ing the influence of Solitude upon the Mind. Many 
of them are, perhaps, undigested; and many more 
are certainly not well expressed. 

Dear and virtuous young man, into whose hands 
this book perchance may fall, receive with kindness 
and affection the good which it contains, and reject 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 193 

all that is cold and bad ; all that does not touch and 
penetrate the heart. But if you thank me for the 
performance, if you bless me, if you acknowledge 
that I have enlightened your mind, corrected your 
manners, and tranquillized your heart, I shall con- 
gratulate myself on the sincerity of my intentions, 
and think my labours richly rewarded. If, in pe- 
rusing it, you find yourself able to justify your 
inclination for a wise and active Solitude, feel an 
aversion from those societies which only serve to 
destroy time, and disdain to employ vile and shame- 
ful means in the acquisition of riches, I shall ask no 
other benediction for my work. If you be fearful of 
opening your lips; if you labour under the continual 
apprehension of saying something that may be consi- 
dered ridiculous, in the understandings of those who 
have granted to themselves the monopoly of wit and 
taste, and who, by virtue of this usurpation, go about 
uttering the greatest absurdities— ah! then think 
that, in such company, I should be considered an 
equal blockhead with yourself. 

Guided in every thing I have written by the real 
sentiments of my mind, and by the immediate feel- 
ings of my heart, a lady of great wit observed, on 
reading the first two parts of this work, that the 
moment I had unbosomed myself I laid down my 
pen. 

This method of writing has certainly produced 
faults which a systematic philosopher would not 
have committed. But I shall console myself for these 

K 



104 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

errors, if this chapter afford only a glimpse of those 
advantages which Solitude confers on the minds, the 
understandings, and the characters of men ; and that 
which follows shall excite a lively sensation of the 
true, noble, and sublime pleasures which it produces 
by a tranquil and affectionate contemplation of na- 
ture, and by an exquisite sensibility for every thing 
that is good and fair. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 195 



CHAP. IV. 

THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE UPON THE HEART. 

Peace of mind is, upon earth, the supreme good. 
Simplicity of heart will procure this invaluable bless- 
ing to the wise mortal who, renouncing the noisy 
pleasures of the world, sets bounds to his desires and 
inclinations, cheerfully submits himself to the de- 
crees of Heaven, and, viewing those around him with 
the eye of charitable indulgence, feels no pleasures 
more delightful than those which are afforded by the 
soft murmur of a stream falling in cascades from the 
summit of rocks, the refreshing breezes of the young 
zephyrs, and the sweet accents of the woodland 
chaunters. 

How refined our sentiments become when the 
tempests of life have subsided ,• when those misfor- 
tunes which caused our afflictions have vanished; 
when we see ourselves surrounded by friendship, 
peace, simplicity, innocence, repose, and liberty! 

The heart, to taste the charms of retirement* 
need not be without emotion. Oh ! who would not 
prefer to every other enjoyment the soft melancholy 
which Solitude inspires ? Who would not renounce 
the universe for one single tear of love ? The heart 
is susceptible of this felicity, when it has learned to 
admire, with equal pleasure, nature in its sublimest 
beauties, and in the modest flower which decorates 



196 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

the valley ; when it has learned to enjoy, at the same 
time, that infinite system, that uniform succession 
of parts, which expands the soul, and those delicious 
details which present soft and pleasant images to the 
mind. These pleasures are not exclusively reserved 
for strong energetic minds, whose sensations are as 
lively as they are delicate ; and upon whom, for that 
reason, good and bad make an equal impression. 
The purest happiness, the most enchanting tran- 
quillity, are also within the reach of men whose tem- 
perament is cold; who, endowed with imaginations 
less bold and lively, always perceive something ex- 
travagant in the energetic expression of a still more 
energetic sensation : in the pictures, therefore, which 
are presented to the eye of such characters, the co- 
louring must not be high, or the teints too sharp i 
for, as the bad strikes them less, so also they are less 
susceptible of the livelier enjoyments. 

The highest enjoyments of the heart are, in Soli- 
tude, derived from the imagination. The touching 
aspect of delightful nature, the variegated verdure of 
the forests, the noise of an impetuous torrent, the 
quivering motion of the foliage, the harmony of the 
groves, and the fine imagery of an extensive pro- 
spect, ravish the soul so entirely, and absorb in such 
a manner all our faculties, that the sentiments of the 
mind are instantly converted into sensations of the 
heart. The view of an agreeable landscape excites 
the softest emotions, and gives birth to pleasing and 
virtuous sentiments ; all this is produced by the 
charms of imagination. 



ZIMMEftMANN OX SOLITUDE. 197 

The imagination, when it acts with tranquil free- 
dom, clothes every object with seductive charms. 
Oh ! how easy it is to renounce noisy pleasures and 
tumultuous assemblies for the enjoyment of that phi- 
losophic repose which Solitude affords ! Awful sen- 
sations and the softest raptures are alternately ex- 
cited by the deep gloom of forests, the tremendous 
height of broken rocks, and the multiplicity of sub- 
lime, majestic objects, which fill the scite of a de- 
lightful landscape. Pain, however excruciating, is 
immediately vanquished by the soft, serious, agree- 
able emotions and reveries with which the surround- 
ing tranquillity inspires the mind. The Solitude of 
retirement, and the awful silence of nature, impress 
an idea of the happy contrast between simplicity and 
grandeur. Our feelings become more exquisite, and 
our admiration more lively, in proportion to the plea- 
sures we receive. 

I had been, during the course of many years, fa- 
miliar with the sublimest appearances of nature, 
when I saw, for the first time, a garden cultivated in 
the English taste near Hanover: and soon afterwards 
I beheld one in the same style, but on a much larger 
scale, at Marienwerder, about the distance of a 
league from the former I was not then apprized of 
the extent of that art which sports with the most un- 
grateful soil, and, by a new species of creation, con- 
verts even barren sandy mountains into fertile and 
smiling landscapes. This magic art makes an asto- 
nishing impression on the mind ; it excites in every 
heart, not yet insensible to the delightful charms of 



198 ZIMAIERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

cultivated nature, all the pleasures which Solitude, 
rural repose, and a seclusion from the haunts of men, 
can procure. I cannot recollect a single day during 1 
the early part of my residence at Hanover without 
tears of gratitude and joy. Torn from the bosom of 
my country, from the embraces of my family, and 
driven from every thing that I held dear in life, my 
mind was not susceptible of any other sentiments 
than those of the deepest melancholy. But when I 
entered the little garden of my late friend M. de 
Hinuber, near Hanover, T forgot for the moment both 
my country and my grief. 

The charm was new to my mind. I was not then 
apprized that it was possible, upon so small a scale, 
to imitate the enchanting variety and the noble sim- 
plicity of Nature. I was not till then convinced that 
her aspect alone is sufficient, at the first view, to 
obliterate all the oppression of the world, to excite 
in our breasts the purest luxury, to fill our minds 
with every sentiment that can create a fondness for 
life. I still bless the hour when I first learned this 
secret. 

This new re-union of art and nature, which was 
invented not in China, but in England, is founded 
upon a refined taste for the beauties of nature, con- 
firmed by experience, and by the sentiments which a 
chaste fancy reflects upon a feeling heart. Hirsch- 
feld, the great painter of nature, and amiable and 
sensible philosopher, the first German who, by his 
admirable theories, introduced among us a know- 
ledge of gardening, is become, by his communica- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 199 

tions upon this subject, one of the great benefactors 
to his country. 

There are, without doubt, many German-English 
gardens so whimsically and ridiculously laid out, 
that they only excite pity and contempt. Who 
can forbear laughing to see forests of poplar- 
trees scarcely large enough to warm a chamber- 
stove for a week ; mole-hills, which they call 
mountains ; menageries of tame and savage animals, 
birds and amphibious creatures, grinning in na- 
tive grandeur upon tin; bridges without number 
across a river which a couple of ducks would drink 
dry ; wooden fishes swimming in canals which the 
pump every morning supplies with water ? All this 
is certainly not less natural than the pitiful taste of 
our ancestors. But if, on the contrary, in the gar- 
den of M. Hinuber at Marienwerder every look ele- 
vate my soul towards God, if every point of view 
afford to the eye sublime repose, if on every bank I 
discover scenes ever smiling and ever new, if my 
heart feel relief from the aspect of this enchanting 
place, shall I amuse myself by discussing, whether 
what I see might have been done in a different way, 
and permit the dull rules of cold and tasteless mas- 
ters to diminish my pleasures ? Scenes of serenity, 
whether created by tasteful art, or by the cunning 
hand of nature, always convey tranquillity to the 
heart; an effect which it owes to the imagination. If 
a soft silence breathe around, and every object be 
pleasant to my view ; if rural scenes absorb all my 
attention, and dissipate the grief that lies heavy on 



200 ZrMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

my heart ; if the loveliness of Solitude enchant me, 
and, gradually subduing my soul, leave it full of be- 
nevolence, love, and content ; I ought to thank God 
for the imagination which, although it has indeed 
frequently caused the trouble of my life, has always 
led me, in retirement, to some friendly rock, upon 
which I could hang while I contemplated with greater 
composure the tempests I had escaped.* A cele- 
brated English writer has said, that " Solitude, on 
the first view of it, inspires the mind with terror, 
because every thing that brings with it the idea of 
privation is terrific, and therefore sublime, like space, 
darkness, and silence." In Swisserland, and espe- 
cially near the canton of Berne, the Alps have at a 
distance an astonishing grandeur of appearance ; but 
viewed nearer, they inspire images terrific and sub- 
lime. That species of grandeur, which accompanies 

* A French writer has embellished this idea with all the 
riches of eloquence. " There is no mind of sensibility which 
has not tasted in the retreats of Solitude those delicious mo- 
ments when man, fleeing from the delusions of falsehood, 
enters into his own heart to seek the sparks of truth. What 
pleasure, after having been tossed during many years on the 
sea of life, to climb some friendly rock, and reflect in peace 
and safety on the tempest and shipwrecks which ensued ! 
Happy the man who can then forget the idle prejudices 
which occupy the mind : the miseries of humanity vanish 
from his sight ; august truth fills his bosom with the purest 
joys. It is only in these moments, and in those which pre- 
cede the dissolution of our mortal frame, that man can learn 
what he is upon this earth, and what this earth is to him." 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 201 

the idea of infinity, charms the eye when seen at a 
proper distance. The heart feels nothing but ravish- 
ment, while the eye observes from afar the uninter- 
rupted chain of these immense mountains, these 
enormous masses rising one above the other. The 
succession of soft and lively shades tempers the im- 
pression, and gives to this prodigious wall of rocks 
more of the agreeable than the sublime. On the 
contrary, a mind of sensibility cannot take a near 
view of these mountains without feeling an involun- 
tary trembling. The eye looks with fear on their 
eternal snows, their steep ascents, their obscure ca- 
verns, the torrents which precipitate themselves with 
resounding noise over their summits, forming innu- 
merable cascades, the dark forests of fir with which 
their sides are overcharged, and the enormous frag- 
ments of rocks which time and tempests have de- 
tached from their foundations How my heart beat, 
when, for the first time, I climbed through a steep 
and narrow path upon those sublime deserts, con- 
tinually discovering new mountains rising over my 
head, while upon the least stumble death menaced 
me in a thousand different shapes below ! But ima- 
gination soon begins to kindle, when you perceive 
yourself alone in the midst of all this grandeur of 
nature, and reflect from these heights on the nothing- 
ness of human power, and the weakness of the 
greatest monarchs ! 

The history of Swisserland evinces, that the in- 
habitants of these mountains are not men of a de- 
generated cast, but that their sentiments are ele- 

k 3 



202 ZIAIMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

vated, and their feelings warm. Their boldness and 
intrepidity are innate ; the spirit of Liberty gives 
wings to their souls; and they trample tyranny and 
tyrants under their feet. But the spirit of liberty is 
only to be found genuine among the inhabitants of 
the Alps ; for all the Swiss are not in reality free, 
although they have notions of liberty, love their 
country, and return their thanks to the Almighty for 
that happy peace which permits each individual to 
live quietly under his vine, and to enjoy the shade of 
his fig tree. 

The Alps in Swisserland are inhabited by a race 
of men sometimes unsociable, but always good and 
generous. The severity of their climate renders 
them hardy and robust, while their pastoral life adds 
softness to their characters. An Englishman has 
said, that he who never heard thunder in the Alps, 
cannot conceive any idea of the continuity of the 
lightning, the rolling and the burst of the thunder 
which roars round the horizon of these immense 
mountains. The inhabitants of the Alps therefore, 
who have never seen better houses than their own 
cabins, or any other country than their native rocks, 
conceive every part of the universe to be formed of 
the same rough materials, and a scene of unceasing 
tempests. 

The Heavens, however, are not always threaten- 
ing; the lightning does not continually flash upon 
their eyes ; immediately after the most dreadful 
tempests, the hemisphere clears itself by slow de- 
crees, and becomes serene. The heads and hearts 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 203 

of the Swiss are of a similar nature; kindness suc- 
ceeds to anger ; and generosity to the most brutal 
fury : this may be easily proved, not only from the 
records of history, but from recent facts. 

One of the inhabitants of these stupendous 
mountains, General de Redin, born in the canton of 
Schwitz, was enrolled very early in life in the Swiss 
guards, and had attained the station of lieutenant- 
general. His long residence at Paris and Versailles, 
however, did not in any degree alter his character; 
and he continued through life a Swiss. The orders 
issued by the court of Versailles, in the year 1/64, 
for the regulation of the Swiss who were in the ser- 
vice of that court, occasioned great discontents in 
the canton of Schwitz. The citizens considered this 
innovation as extremely prejudicial to their ancient 
privileges, and they threw the blame of this measure 
upon General Redin. At this crisis the wife of the 
general, who resided on his estate, was exerting all 
her interest to raise recruits ; but the sound of the 
French drum was become disgusting to the ears of 
the citizens of the canton, and they saw with indig- 
nation the white cockade placed in the hats of the 
deluded peasants. The magistrate, apprehensive 
that this fermentation might ultimately cause an in- 
surrection among the people, thought it his duty to 
prohibit Madame de Redin from continuing to raise 
her levies. The lady required him to give a certifi- 
cate in writing of this prohibition ; but the magistrate 
was not at that moment inclined to adopt so spirited 
a measure against the interests of France ; and the 



204 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

wife of the general continued to raise her recruits. 
This bold defiance of the prohibition irritated the 
inhabitants of the canton ; they summoned a general 
diet, and Madame de Redin appeared before the 
Four Thousand. "The drum," said she, "shall 
never cease to beat until you give me a certificate, 
which may justify my husband to the court of France 
for not completing the number of his men" They 
granted her the certificate she demanded, and the 
general was at the same time enjoined to use his 
interest at the court of France for the service of his 
country These measures being adopted, the canton 
waited in anxious expectation of receiving satisfac- 
tory accounts fro 11 Paris ; but unhappily very dissa- 
tisfactory accounts arrived. The feelings of the in- 
habitants were irritated beyond restraint ; and those 
who were possessed of credit and authority publicly 
maintained, that the new regulation endangered both 
their liberties and their religion. The general dis- 
content was instantly converted into popular fury. 
The diet was again assembled, and it was publicly 
resolved not to furnish the King of France with any 
troops hereafter. The treaty of alliance in 1713 was 
torn from the archives of the country, and General 
Redin was ordered to return imme iately with the 
soldiers under his command, upon pain of perpetual 
exile. Redin obtained the king's leave of absence 
for himself and his regiment; and they returned 
obedient to the order of the diet. The general 
entered Schwitz, the metropolis of the canton, at the 
head of his troops, with drums beating and colours 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 205 

flying, and marched immediately towards the church. 
Redin placed the colours by the side of the great 
altar, fell upon his knees, and offered up his thanks 
to God. He then discharged his soldiers, paid their 
arrears, and gave them their accoutrements and 
clothes ; and with tears in his eyes, while they wept 
around him, took his leave. The fury of the po- 
pulace seemed to increase, when they found the man 
in their custody whom they considered as a perfidi- 
ous wretch, a traitor who ha-t favoured the new re- 
gulations at the court of Versailles, and who had 
conspired to give a mortal blow to the interest of his 
country. The general diet assembled, and Redin 
was summoned to disclose the manner in which 
these new regula ions had passed, in order that they 
might know the terms on which they stood with 
France, and learn the degree of offence the traitor 
had committed, so that they might afterwards grant 
him a pardon, or apportion his punishment. Redin, 
perfectly aware that, under the real circumstances of 
the case, eloquence would be vainly exerted against 
minds so heated in the cause, contented himself with 
saying roughly, and in few words, that all the w r orld 
knew the manner in which things had passed, and 
that he was as innocent with regard to the new regu- 
lation as he was of the causes assigned for his dis- 
mission. " The traitor then will not confess ! ex- 
claimed the most furious of the members ! * c hang 
him on the next tree — cut him to pieces." These 
menaces were instantly repeated by the whole as- 
sembly -, Redin, however, continued perfectly tran- 



206 ZIMMEIiMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

quil. A troop of furious peasants mounted the ros- 
trum, while Rediii stood by the side of the magis- 
trates. It was at this time raining. A young man, 
the godson of Redin, held a parapluie over his head. 
One of the enraged multitude, with a blow of his 
stick, broke the parapluie to pieces, exclaiming, 
" Let the villain be uncovered " Rage swelled the 
bosom of the youth. " Ah ! ah I" said he, " I did not 
know that my godfather had betrayed his country ; 
but since it is so, bring me a cord this moment, that 
I may strangle him." The members of the council 
formed a circle round the general, and entreated him, 
with uplifted hands, to think of his danger ; to con- 
fess that he had not perhaps opposed the regulation 
with proper vehemence; and to offer the sacrifice of 
his whole fortune as a reparation for the offence he 
had committed, on condition that they would spare 
his life. Redin walked out of the circle with a grave 
and tranquil air, and made the sign of silence with 
his hand. The whole assembly waited with impa- 
tience to hear the general confess ; and the greater 
number of the members nattered him with the hopes 
of pardon " My dear countrymen," said the gene- 
ral, <c you are not ignorant that I have served the 
King of France two-and-forty years. You know, and 
many among you who were with me in the service 
can bear witness of its truth, how frequently I have 
appeared in the face of the enemy, and the manner in 
which I have conducted myself in several battles. I 
considered every engagement as the last day of my 
life. But I here protest, in the presence of Almighty 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 20/ 

God, who knows all hearts, who listens to my words, 
who is to judge us all, that I never appeared before 
the enemy with a conscience more tranquil, pure, 
and innocent, than I at this moment possess ; and 
am now ready to yield up my life, if you think pro- 
per to condemn me for not confessing an infidelity 
of which I have not been guilty. 5 ' 

The dignity with which the general delivered this 
declaration, and the rays of truth which beamed upon 
his countenance, calmed the fury of the assembly, 
and he was saved. But both he and his wife soon 
afterwards quitted the canton. She entered into a 
religious convent at Uri, and he retired into a deep 
cavern among the rocks, where he lived two years in 
Solitude. The fury of his countrymen, however, at 
length subsided ; he returned to the canton, and re- 
warded their ingratitude by the most signal services. 
Every individual then recollected the integrity and 
magnanimity of the general; and to compensate the 
injuries and injustice he had received, they elected 
him bailli, or first officer of the canton : nay, what 
very rarely happens, they afterwards elected him 
three times successively to this important dignity. 

This is the characteristic disposition of the people 
who inhabit the Alps of Swisserland ,• alternately 
mild and violent : following, in the extreme, the 
dictates of a bold and lively imagination, their pas- 
sions and affections experience the same vicissitudes 
as their climate. But I candidly acknowledge, that 
I would rather live in Solitude among the rocks 
of Uri, than be perpetual bailli of the canton of 
Schwitz. 



208 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

The continual view of the sublime deserts of the 
Alps may perhaps contribute to render the Swiss 
rude and unpolished ; but, as in every similar situ- 
ation, their hearts are improved in kindness and 
good-nature by the tranquillity of their fields, and 
the smiling beauties of the scenery by which they 
are surrounded. The English artists acknowledge, 
that the face of nature in Swisserland is too sublime 
and too majestic for the pencil to render a faithful 
representation of it. But what exquisite enjoyments 
must they not experience upon those romantic hills, 
in those agreeable vallies, upon the happy borders 
of those still and transparent lakes ! * Ah ! it is 

* 1 feel great delight in the Letters upon Swisserland 
by Professor Meiners, with what amiable sensibility that 
philosopher seated himself upon the banks of the lake of 
Biel, and quietly resigned himself to all the emotions of his 
soul ! " When I am fatigued,'" says M. Meiners to one of 
his friends at Gottingen, " and it pleases my fancy to con- 
sider more attentively the several objects which surround 
me, I seat myself upon the first bank, or the wall of a vine- 
yard under which people continually pass. I never indulge 
this disposition without experiencing an inexpr ssible tran- 
quillity. The last time it was about six o'clock, while the 
sun was sinking behind the ridge of Jura. The dark green 
firs which grow almost alone to a certain height on the 
mountain ; the oaks of a brighter verdure which succeed 
them ; the vines, still livelier in their teints, in the middle 
of which I was seated ; and a considerable portion of the 
lake, which by that means appeared more extensive, was 
in the shade ; while the other part of the lake, the opposite 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 209 

there that Nature may be closely examined : it is 
there that she appears in her highest pomp and 
splendour. If the view of the oak, the elm, the dark 
firs which people these immense forests, convey no 
pleasures; if the sight of those majestic trees excite 
no pleasing emotion in your mind, there still remain 
the myrtle of Venus, the almond-tree, the jessamine, 
the pomegranate, and those eminences covered with 
luxurious vines. Reflect, that in no country of the 
globe, Nature is more rich and variegated in her ap- 
pearances than in Swisserland, and that it was the 
landscape and the lake of Zurich which inspired the 
Idylls of the immortal Gessner; the most agreeable 
of all the poets of nature. 

These sublime beauties raise the heart : and 
strike the imagination in a much more lively manner 
than softer scenes ; as a fine night affords a more 
august and solemn spectacle than the mildest day. 
In coming from Frescati, by the side of the small 
lake of Nemi, which lies in a deep valley so enclosed 
by mountains and forests that the winds never agitate 
its surface, it is impossible not to exclaim with the 
English poet, that here — 

shore, Biel, and Nidaw, and the tops of the Glaciers, were 
still brightened by the last rays of the sun. Above, the 
bleating of the flocks transported me in idea to the smiling 
plains of Arcadia ; below, I heard the hum of peasants, 
and of fishermen, whose boats I could scarcely discover, 
with the affecting murmur of the lake, gently rolling its 
waves against the rocks which overhang its banks." 



210 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

" Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws 
A death-like silence, and a dread repose : 
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, 
Shades every flower, and darkens every green, 
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, 
And breathes a browner horror on the woods." 

Pope, Eloisa to Abelard, ver. 165. 

While the soul expands, and the mind becomes 
serene and free, you suddenly discover from the 
garden of the Capuchins near Albano, the little me- 
lancholy lake with all the mountains and forests 
which surround it; the castle of Gandolpho, with 
Frescati and all its rural villas on one side ; on the 
other, the handsome city of Albano, the village and 
castle of Riccia and Geusano, with their hills decked 
with vine-leaves ; below, the extensive plains of Cam- 
pania, in the middle of which Rome, formerly the 
mistress of the universe, raises its majestic head; 
and lastly, beyond all these objects, the hills of 
Tivoli, the Appennines, and the Mediterranean sea.* 

Thus the view of sublime or beautiful objects 
differently affects the heart ; the sublime excite fear 

* A German Lady, who possesses a very lively imagi- 
nation, undertook a voyage to Italy for there-establishment 
of her health. Her strength increased day after day. When, 
she found herself on the scite of Albano, above described, 
she endeavoured to express to her companions the emotions 
which the view of this scene occasioned : but her feelings 
were so exquisite, that they deprived her of the power of 
utterance ; and she actually remained several days without 
being able to speak. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 211 

and terror, the beautiful create only soft and agree- 
able sensations. But both of them enlarge and ag- 
grandize the sphere of the imagination, and enable 
us more satisfactorily to seek enjoyments within our- 
selves. 

To experience these pleasures, it is not necessary 
to visit Swisserland and Italy. There is no person 
who may not, by quietly traversing the mountains 
with his gun, and without running after poetic 
images, like Kleist,* learn to feel how much the 
great scene of nature will affect the heart, especially 
when assisted by the powers of imagination. The 
sight of an agreeable landscape, the various points 
of view which spacious plains afford, the freshness 
of the zephyrs, the beauty of the sky, and the appe- 
tite which a long chace procures, will give feelings 
of health, and make every step seem too short. The 
privation of every object that can recall the idea of 
dependence, accompanied by domestic comfort, health- 
ful exercise, and useful occupations, will add vigour 
to thought, give warmth to imagination, present the 
most agreeable and smiling images to the mind, and 
inebriate the heart with delicious sensations. A man 
with a fine imagination would be more happy in a 
dark prison, than, without imagination, amidst the 
most magnificent scenery. But even to a mind de- 
prived of this happy faculty, the rich harvest of rural 
life will alone perform miracles upon the heart- 

* M. Kleist, a celebrated poet of Germany, distinguished 
by his poem on Spring. 



£12 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Who among us, alas ! has 'not experienced, in the 
hours of languor and disgust, the powerful effects 
which a view of the enchanting pleasures enjoyed by 
the village rustic is capable of affording? How 
fondly the heart partakes of ail his joys ! With what 
freedom, cordiality, and kindness, we take him by 
the hand, and listen to his plain unlettered tales! 
How suddenly do we feel our bosoms interested in 
every object that concerns him ! Rural scenes display, 
refine, and meliorate the lurking inclinations of the 
heart, and afford a variety of pleasures even to those 
who, buried in the sink of cities, scarcely know what 
pleasure is. 

A French officer, on his return to his native 
country after a long absence, exclaimed,—" It is 
only in rural life that a man can truly enjoy the 
treasures of the heart, himself, his wife, his children, 
and his friends. The country has, in every respect, 
the greater advantage over the town. The air is pure, 
the prospects smiling, the walks pleasant, the living 
comfortable, the manners simple, and the mind vir- 
tuous. The passions unfold themselves without in- 
jury to any person. The bosom, inspired by the love 
of liberty, feels itself dependent on heaven alone. 
Nature satisfies the most avaricious mind, by the 
endless bounty of her gifts. The warrior may follow 
the chace, the voluptuary may cultivate the rich 
fruits of the earth, and the philosopher indulge his 
contemplation at ease." — Oh ! how strongly this 
writer moves and interests my heart, when he tells 
me, by this affecting passage of his work, — " I should 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 213 

prefer a residence in my native fields, to all others ; 
not because they are more beautiful, but because I 
was there brought up. The spot on which we pass 
our earliest days possesses a secret charm, an inex- 
pressible enchantment, superior to any other enjoy- 
ment the world affords, and the loss of which no 
other country can compensate ; the spot where the 
gambols of my infant days were played ; those happy 
days which passed without inquietude or cares. The 
finding of a bird's nest then filled my bosom with the 
highest joy. What delight have I felt from the 
caresses of a partridge, in making it peck at me, in 
feeling his little heart beat against my hand! Happy 
he who returns to the place of his first attachment ; 
that place where he fondly fixed his love on all around 
him ; where every object appeared amiable to his 
eyes; the fertile fields in which he used to run and 
exercise himself; the orchards which he used to 
pillage."* 

These delightful sentiments engrave indelibly on 
our hearts the remembrance of our infancy, of those 
happy times which we passed with so much pleasure 
in the charming Solitudes of our native country. 

Thus, at every period of our existence, and in 
every place, the freedom and tranquillity of a country 
life will induce us to exclaim with the sacred orator, 

* To this passage, in the French translation of this 
work, is subjoined the following note : — " Not knowing the 
traveller who is here alluded to, we beg his excuse for 
having ventured to translate it into French from the text 
in German." 



214 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

" How happy is the wise and virtuous man, who 
knows how to enjoy tranquillity with true dignity 
and perfect ease, independent of every thing around 
him ! How preferable is this happy calm to the 
deafening clamour, the false joys, the dazzling splen- 
dour of the fashionable world ! What refined, noble, 
generous sentiments rise and unfold themselves in 
retirement, which, during the din of business and 
the dissipations of pleasure, lie concealed at the 
bottom of the soul, fearful of the contemptuous sneer 
of wicked and unthinking minds !" 

Oh my beloved Zollikofer!* I have felt in the 
pleasures of a retired domestic life the truth of those 
doctrines which you announced at Leipsic : doctrines 
which do not inculcate a cold and sterile theology, 
but wise and virtuous precepts which warm and ani- 
mate the heart. I have seen, as you described, that 
in the bowers of retirement the vexations of business 
may be forgot ; that sorrow too poignant to remove 
may be lulled to rest in the bosom of friendship, and 
the heart revived by the charms of consolation ; that 
the mind may be brightened by rising hopes, and 
the storms of fortune suspended until returning for- 
titude enables us to support them, or we gain suf- 
ficient courage to drive them away. Studious men 
frequently abandon their labour, and retreating from 
recondite researches find, in the enjoyments of domes- 
tic innocence, and the simple, honest manners of 
their domestics, more happiness, tranquillity, cordial 

* A celebrated preacher of Germany, 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 215 

enjoyment, and mental pleasure, than even the arts 
and sciences are capable of affording. In the private 
economy of rural retirement, every one obtains the 
exact portion of praise and approbation which he 
merits, and he obtains them from those whose praise 
and approbation it is his utmost ambition to acquire. 
Here the unfortunate are relieved, the wretched made 
happy, the wanderer put into his right way; and 
every body rejoicing in satisfaction and content. 

The calm of rural life inspires a soft and tranquil 
disposition : which, while it renders the noisy plea- 
sures of the world insipid, enables us to taste the 
charms of Solitude with increased delight. The 
happy indolence peculiar to Italians, who under the 
pleasures of a clear unclouded sky, are always poor 
but never miserable, contributes greatly to improve 
the heart. The mildness of their climate, and the 
fertility of their soil, compensate for every thing. 
Doctor Moore, an English traveller, whose works 
afford me great delight, says, that " the Italians are 
the greatest loungers in the world ; and, while walk- 
ing in the fields, or stretched in the shade, seem to 
enjoy the serenity and genial warmth of their climate 
with a degree of luxurious indulgence peculiar to 
themselves. Without ever running into the daring 
excesses of the English, or displaying the frisky 
vivacity of the French, or the stubborn phlegm of 
the Germans, the Italian populace discover a species 
of sedate sensibility to every source of enjoyment, 
from which, perhaps, they derive a greater degree of 
happiness than any of the other." 



2 J 6 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Under this pleasing- privation of those objects 
which afflict and torment the heart, the mind un- 
avoidably indulges agreeable chimeras and romantic 
sentiments. This condition has its fair side. A ro- 
mantic disposition may lead the mind into extrava- 
gance and error, may frequently engender base and 
contemptible passions, habitute it to a light and airy 
mode of thinking, prevent it from directing its facul- 
ties to rational ends, and obscure the prospect of true 
happiness ; for the soul cannot easily quit the illusion 
on which it dwells with such fond delight 3 and the or- 
dinary duties of life, and its more noble and substan- 
tial pleasures are perhaps, thereby obstructed;* but 
romantic sentiments do not, in general, render the 

* " The influence of the imagination on the conduct 
of life," says Dr. Arbuthnot, " is one of the most important 
points in moral philosophy. It were easy, by an induction 
of facts, to prove that the imagination directs almost all the 
passions, and mixes with almost every circumstance of ac- 
tion or pleasure. Let any man, even of the coldest head 
and soberest industry, analyse the idea of what he calls his 
interest he will find that it consists chiefly of certain degrees 
of decency, beauty, and order, variously combined into one 
system, the idol of which he seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, 
and self-denial. It is, on this account, of the last conse- 
quence to regulate these images by the standard of nature 
and the general good ; otherwise the imagination, by height- 
ening some objects beyond their real existence and beauty, 
or by representing others in a more odious and terrible 
shape than they deserve, may of course engage us in pur- 
suits utterly inconsistent with the moral order of things." — 
Translator. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 217 

mind unhappy. Who, alas! has ever really ex- 
perienced the happiness he has enjoyed by the powers 
of imagination ? 

Rousseau, in his youth, was a great reader of 
novels ; and being hurried away by the imaginary 
objects with which this species of composition abounds, 
and his own romantic mind, he became careless of 
the world. From this source sprung that taste for 
solitude which he preserved to an advanced period of 
his life ; a taste in appearance dictated by melancholy 
and misanthrophy, and which he attributed to the 
kind, tender, and affectionate disposition of his heart. 
Natural or experimental philosophy, therefore, not 
being able to raise in his mind sentiments sufficiently 
warm and animated, he sought, by constraint, the 
field of fiction. 

There are wanderings of the imagination which 
may be indulged in solitude, without doing any in- 
jury either to the sentiments of the mind or the sen- 
sations of the heart. I have, in the varieties of my 
fortune, always found some individual to whom my 
heart has fondly attached itself. Oh ! if the friends 
I left in Swisserland knew how frequently during the 
silence of the night, I pass with them those hours 
which should be sacred to sleep ; if they knew that 
neither time nor absence can efface from my mind 
the remembrance how dear they have been to me 
from my earliest youth ; if they knew how speedily 
the soft remembrance dissipates my sorrows, and 
makes me forget misfortune ; they would perhaps 



218 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

rejoice to find that I still live among them in imagi- 
nation, although I may be dead to them in reality. 

Let not a solitary man, whose heart is warmed by 
sentiments noble and refined, ever be thought un- 
happy ! He, of whom the stupid vulgar so freely 
complain; he, whom they conclude to be the victim 
of every melancholy idea, of every sombrous reflec- 
tion, frequently tastes the liveliest pleasures. The 
French conceived Rousseau to be of a gloomy dispo- 
sition. He certainly was not so during a great por- 
tion of his life ; he certainly was not so when he 
wrote to M, de Malherbe, the chancellor's son, " 1 
cannot express to you, Sir, how much I am affected 
by perceiving that you consider me the most unhappy 
of mankind. The public will, without doubt, judge 
of me as you do ; and this is the cause of my afflic- 
tion. Oh ! that my feelings were but known to the 
whole universe ! that every man would endeavour to 
follow my example ! peace would then reign through- 
out the world ; men would no longer dream of calum- 
niating each other ; and there would no longer be 
wicked men, when no one would find it their interest 
to be wicked. — If it be asked, how I could find enjoy- 
ment when Twas alone ? in myself, in the whole 
universe, in every thing that does, in every thing that 
can exist therein ; in all that the eye finds beautiful 
in the real world, or the imagination in the intellec- 
tual. I collected about me every thing that is flatter- 
ing to the heart ; my desires were the rule of my 
pleasures. No ! the most voluptuous have never ex- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 21Q 

perienced such refined delights ; and I have always 
enjoyed my chimeras much more than if they had 
been realized." 

There is undoubtedly a high and romantic style 
in these expressions ; but oh ! ye stupid vulgar, who 
would not prefer the warm wanderings of Rousseau's 
fancy to your cold and creeping understandings? 
Who would not joyfully renounce your vague con- 
versation, your deceitful felicities, your boasted 
urbanity, your noisy nonsense, puerile pastimes and 
prejudices, for a quiet and contented life in the 
bosom of a happy family ? Who w r ould not rather 
seek in the silence of the woods, upon the daisied 
borders of a peaceful lake, those pure and simple 
pleasures of nature, which leave so delightful an im- 
pression, and produce joys so pure, so affecting, so 
different from your own. 

Eclogues are fictions, but they are fictions of the 
most natural and agreeable kind, the purest and most 
sublime descriptions of rural happiness. 

Real pleasure can only be found in retirement, 
where the soul, disengaged from the torments of the 
world, no longer feels those artificial desires which 
render her unhappy both in prospect and fruition. 
Content with little, satisfied with all, surrounded by 
love and innocence, we perceive in retirement the 
golden age of the poets revived, of which the worldly- 
minded man regrets the loss. But these advantages 
were not peculiar to the golden age : we may all live 
in Arcadia if we please. The beauties of a chrystal 
spring, a silent grove, a daisied meadow, will chasten 



J 



220 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

the feelings of the heart, and afford at all times a 
permanent and pure delight. 

Pope ascribes the origin of poetry to the age that 
immediately succeeded the creation. The first em- 
ployment of mankind was the care of flocks, and 
therefore the most ancient sort of poetry was probably 
pastoral. It is natural to imagine, that anciently 
shepherds must have endeavoured to divert the happy 
leisure of their solitary and sedentary life ; and in 
such a situation what diversion could be more agree- 
able than singing > and in their songs what could be 
more natural than to celebrate their own felicity ? 
Such was probably, in the opinion of Pope, the origin 
of pastorals ; descriptions of the calmness and tran- 
quillity with which the life of a shepherd was attend- 
ed, and designed to create in our bosoms a love and 
esteem for the virtues of a former age. 

These happy fictions communicate joy and glad- 
ness, and we bless the poet who, in the ecstasy of 
his own felicity, contributes to render others as 
happy as himself. Sicily and Zurich have produced 
two of these benefactors to mankind. The Idylls of 
Theocritus and Gessner* represent nature in its most 

* Perhaps no writer throughout Europe has more judi- 
ciously criticised the Idylls of Gessner than the incompara- 
ble Blair in his " Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres," 
where he says, " Of all the moderns, M. Gessner, a Poet 
of Swisserland,* has been the most successful in his pastoral 
compositions. He has introduced into his Idylls (as he en- 
titles them) many new ideas. His rural scenery is often 
striking, and his descriptions are lively. He presents pas- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 221 

beautiful aspect, and inspire the heart, on reading 
them, with tenderness and delight. It is my peculiar 
gratification, my dear Gessner, to recall the pleasures 
I have received in your correspondence. 

By these easy, simple modes, the beauties of 
nature operate upon the heart and aid the imagina- 
tion." The mind indeed, drawn away by these agree- 
able images, often resigns itself too easily to the 
illusions of romance ; but the ideas they create always 
amend the heart without injuring ihe understanding, 
and spread some of the sweetest flowers along the 
most thorny paths of life. 

The heart feels no repose, the highest happiness 
on earth, except in Solitude : but this term must not 
be construed into indolence and sloth. The transi- 
tion from pain to pleasure, from the restraints of 
business to the freedom of philosophy, is true repose. 
This was the idea of P. Scipio when he said, that he 

toral life to us with all the embellishments of which it is 
susceptible ; but without any excess of refinement. What 
forms the chief merit of this poet is, that he writes to the 
heart, and has enriched the subject of his Idylls with inci- 
dents which give rise to much tender sentiment. Scenes of 
domestic felicity are beautifully painted. The mutual af- 
fection of husbands and wives, of parents and children, of 
brothers and sisters, as well as of lovers, are displayed in a 
pleasing and touching manner. From not understanding 
the language in which M. Gessner writes, I can be no judge 
of the poetry of his style : but, in the subject and conduct of 
his pastorals, he appears to me to have outdone all the 
Moderns." 



222 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

was never less idle than in the hours of leisure, and 
never less alone than when alone. Leisure is not a 
state of mental torpidity, but of thought and action ; 
when one employment is immediately succeeded by 
another; for in Solitude it is the heart that finds 
repose in the exercise of the mind. 

It is but too true, alas ! that he who seeks for a 
situation exempt from all inquietude follows a 
chimera. To enjoy life repose must be sought, not 
as an end, but only as a means of restoring lost 
activity. Such employments therefore as are best 
suited to the extent and nature of the capacity must 
be preferred, and not those which promise com- 
pensation without labour, and enjoyment without 
pain. 

To take immediate advantage of the first impulse 
to action, will eventually lead the mind to repose. If 
the misfortunes of those we love have rendered us 
unhappy ; if the sufferings of others tear our hearts ; 
if a sympathising tenderness destroys all pleasuse, 
envelopes the mind in shades of the darkest melan- 
choly, so as to render existence painful, and deprive 
us even of ability to practise the virtues which we 
feel; if we have long but vainly struggled to deliver 
the heart from these cruel sufferings, Solitude is the 
only refuge. But oh ! may the Beauty who accom- 
panies our retreat be an Angel of Virtue, and in our 
descent to the vale of death conduct and support us 
by her wisdom in a noble and sublime tranquillity. 

Amidst the misfortunes of which I was the sport 
and victim, I knew no hours more happy than those 
in which I forgot and was forgotten by the world. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 223 

The silence of the groves relieved my pains ; and all 
the oppression of my heart, the worldly vexation of 
my mind, disgust, fear, or constraint, then fled far 
away. The calm aspect of nature charmed me 5 and 
while I enjoyed the scene, the softest and most de- 
licious sensations filled my breast. 

How often, on the approach of spring, has the 
magnificent valley, where the ruins of the residence 
of Rodolpho de Hapsburg rises upon the side of a 
hill crowned with woods of variegated verdure, 
afforded me the purest and most ineffable delight. 
There the rapid Aar descends in torrents from the 
lofty mountains ; sometimes forming a vast bason in 
the vale ; at others, precipitating through narrow 
passages across the rocks, winding its course majes- 
tically through the middle of the vast and fertile 
plains ; on the other side the Ruffs, and, lower down, 
the Limmat bring their tributary streams, and peace- 
ably unite with the waters of the Aar. In the mid- 
dle of this rich and verdant carpet I beheld the Royal 
Solitude where the remains of the Emperor Albert 
the First repose in silence, with those of many Princes 
of the House of Austria, Counts, Knights, and Gen- 
tlemen, killed by the Swiss. At a distance I dis- 
covered the long valley where lie the ruins of the 
celebrated city of Vindonissa,* upon which I have 

* Vindonissa was a very large and well-fortified Roman 
village, which served as a fortress to the emperors against 
the irruptions of the Germans. In this place they continually 
kept a very numerous garrison to overawe those dangerous 



224 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

frequently sat and reflected on the vanity of human 
greatness. Beyond this magnificent country, ancient 
castles raise their lofty heads upon the hills, and the 
far distant horizon is terminated by the romantic 
and sublime summits of the Alps. In the midst of 
all this grand scenery, my eyes were involuntarily 
cast down into the deep valley immediately below 
me, and continued fixed upon the little village where 
I first drew my breath. I traced all the houses and 
every window of the house which I had inhabited- 
When I compared the sensations I then felt with 
those which I had before experienced, I exclaimed 
to myself, " Why, alas ! does my soul thus contract 
itself, when surrounded by so many objects capable 

neighbours, who frequently established themselves on the 
borders of the Rhine, and pillaged the plains of the Aar> 
notwithstanding the fortresses the Romans had erected on 
the banks of that river. The emperor Constantine Chlorus 
defeated the Germans in the year 297 between the Rhine 
and the Aar ; but at the beginning of the fourth century, the 
Romans lost all their power in that country, and Vindonissa 
was taken and destroyed by the Germans. It appears, in- 
deed, that it was rebult ; for the episcopal chair was, during 
the reigns of the French emperors, established in this city, 
but in consequence of being again destroyed, was, towards 
the year 579, removed to Constantia. It was among the 
remains of this celebrated city that the counts Windich and 
Altemberg dwelt in the tenth century. Of all this grandeur, 
the ruins only are now to be seen ; below which, near the 
castles of Windich and Altemberg, is the little village of 
Brugg, where I was born. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. £25 

of inspiring- the sublimest sentiments ? Why does 
the season, so lively and serene, appear to me so 
turbulent and dismal ? Why do I feel, on casting my 
eyes below, so much uneasiness and disgust, when 
but a moment ago, on viewing those romantic ob- 
jects, I felt my heart expand with tranquillity and 
love, pardoned all the errors of misguided judgment, 
and forgot the injuries I received ? Why is that little 
knot of men who are assembled under my feet so 
fretful and discordant ? Why is a virtuous character 
so horrid to their sight ? Why is he who governs so 
imperious, and he who is governed so abject? Why 
are there in this place so little liberty and courage ? 
Why are there so few among them who know them- 
selves r Why is one so proud and haughty, another 
so mean and grovelling ? Why, in short, among be- 
ings who are by nature equal, does pride and arro- 
gance so egregiously prevail, while they perceive the 
natives of these groves perch without distinction 
upon the highest and the lowest boughs, and unite 
their songs to celebrate the praises of their Creator ?" 
Having finished my soliloquy, I descended, satisfied 
and peaceable, from my mountain ; made my most 
profound reverences to messieurs the burgo-masters, 
extended my hand with cordiality to one of my in- 
feriors, and preserved the happiest tranquillity, until, 
by mixing with the world, the sublime mountain, 
smiling valley, and the friendly birds, vanished from 
my mind. 

Thus rural Solitude dissipates every unpleasant 
idea, changes the bitterest feelings into the sweetest 

. l3 



226 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

pleasures, and inspires an ecstasy and content whick 
the votaries of the world can never experience. The 
tranquillity of nature silences every criminal inclina- 
tion in the corrupted heart ; renders us blithe, ami- 
able, open, and confident; and strengthens our steps 
in the paths of virtue, provided we direct the passions 
to their proper end, and do not by an overheated 
imagination fabricate fancied woes. 

These advantages are with difficulty attained in 
the hurry of the world. It appears easy for a man 
to retire to his apartment, and raise his mind by 
silent contemplation above the consideration of those 
objects by which he is surrounded. But few persons 
have this opportunity. Within doors, a thousand 
things occur to interrupt reflection: and without 
accidents continually happen to confound our vain 
wisdom. The peevish, painful sensations, which 
these interruptions excite, aggravate the heart, and 
weaken the powers of the mind, unless it be upheld 
by objects particularly affecting. 

Rousseau was always unhappy in Paris.* This 
extraordinary genius, indeed, wrote his immortal 
works while he resided in the metropolis; but the 
moment he quitted his house, his mind was bewildered 
by a variety of opposite sentiments, his ideas aban- 
doned him, and the brilliant writer, the profound 
philosopher, he who was so intimately acquainted 

* I can truly say, that all the time I lived at Paris was 
only employed in seeking the means of being able to live 
out of it. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITTDE. 227 

with all the labyrinths of the human heart, became 
almost a child. 

In the country, we leave home with greater safety, 
cheerfulness, and satisfaction. The solitary man, if 
tired with meditating in his study, has only to open 
his door and walk abroad : tranquillity attends his 
steps, and new pleasures present themselves at every 
turn. Beloved by all around him, he extends his 
hand with cordial affection to every man he meets. 
Nothing occurs to irritate his passions, here he dreads 
not the disdain of some haughty countess or imperi- 
ous baron. No monied upstart drives over him with 
his coach. The frontless usurer dares not, under 
the authority of musty title-deeds, threaten his re- 
pose, or the insolence of wealth offer an indignity to 
his modest virtue. 

The man who is at peace with himself, and pos- 
sesses sufficient strength of nerves, may, even in 
Paris or any other city, experience happiness by 
withdrawing from the tumults of the town. But 
with feeble nerves every object in the least degree 
displeasing irritates his mind, and he becomes the 
sport of passions unworthy of a man. 

The languors even of a weak constitution, though 
surrounded by the most unpleasant objects, may be 
quietly borne in the most active scenes of life, pro- 
vided we are at peace with ourselves. The passions 
are the gales by the aid of which man ought to steer 
his course on the ocean of life, for it is the passions 
alone which give motion to the soul : but when they 
become impetuous, the vessel is in danger and runs 



228 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

a-ground. Pain and grief find no entrance into those 
bosoms that are free from remorse. The virtuous 
forget the past, form no idle speculations on the fu- 
ture, and do not refine away their happiness, by 
thinking that what is good may still be better. Every 
thing is much better than we imagine. The anxious 
wishes of an ardent mind are seldom satisfied ; for 
with such characters fruition is indeed frequently 
accompanied with discontent. The stream of con- 
tent must flow from ourselves, taking its source from 
a deliberate disposition to learn what is good, and a 
determined resolution to seek for and enjoy it, how- 
ever small the portion may be. 

To acquire that happy tranquillity which men 
expect to find in Solitude, it is not sufficient to re- 
gard every object that presents itself to their view 
with supineness or surprise. He who, without em- 
ployment, without having a plan of conduct previ- 
ously digested and arranged, hopes for happiness in 
Solitude, will yawn at his cottage in the country just 
as often as he did at his mansion in town, and would 
do much better to employ himself in hewing wood 
the whole day, than to loiter about in boots and 
spurs. But he who, living in the most profound So- 
litude, keeps himself continually employed, will ac- 
quire, by means of labour, true tranquillity and 
happiness. 

Petrarch would have found this tranquillity in 
his Solitude at Vaucluse, but that his heart sighed 
so incessantly for his beloved Laura. He was, how- 
ever, perfectly acquainted with the art of vanquish- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 229 

ihg himself. " I rise/' said he, " at midnight ; I go 
out by break of day. I study in the fields as well 
as in my chamber. 1 read, I write, I think. I en- 
deavour to conquer the least disposition to indolence, 
and drive away sleep, effeminacy, and sensuality. I 
traverse, from morning till night, the barren moun- 
tains, the humid vallies, and the deep caverns. I 
walk, accompanied only by my cares, along the 
banks of my river. I do not meet a man to seduce 
me from my path. Men daily become less annoying 
to me ; for I place them either far before or much 
behind me. I moralize on the past, and deliberate 
on the future. I have found an excellent expedient 
to induce a separation from the world. I attach 
myself to the place of my residence ; and I am per- 
suaded that I could form that attachment in any 
place except at Avignon. In my present residence 
at Vaucluse, I find Athens, Rome, or Florence, ac- 
cording as the manners of the one or of the other 
best pleases the disposition of my mind. Here I 
enjoy all my friends, as well those with whom I have 
lived, as those who have entered the vale of death 
before me, and whom I only know by their good 
works." 

When we are thus resolved, and find resources 
like these within our minds, Solitude enables us to 
accomplish whatever we please. Love however pre- 
vented Petrarch from improving the opportunities 
which Solitude afforded, and his heart was a stranger 
to repose ; which, as Lavater has observed, consists 
in quietude of conscience and the exercise of virtue. 



230 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Employment will produce content in the most 
frightful deserts. The dairo of Japan banishes the 
grandees of the empire who incur his displeasure 
into the island of Fatsisio. The shores of this island, 
which was formerly inhabited, are of a surprising- 
height. It has no haven, is entirely barren, and its 
access so difficult, that the exiles and their provision 
are obliged to be landed by means of cranes. The 
sole employment of these unhappy men in this me- 
lancholy residence is to manufacture silk stuffs and 
gold-tissues, which are so highly beautiful, that they 
are not suffered to be purchased by strangers. I 
confess that I should not like to fall under the dis- 
pleasure of the Emperor of Japan ; but I neverthe- 
less conceive, that there is more internal tranquillity 
in the island of Fatsisio than the emperor and his 
whole court enjoy. 

Every thing which conveys a spark of comfort to 
the soul of man should be anxiously preserved ; not 
by seeking to raise an eternal flame, but by taking 
care that the last spark be not extinguished. It is 
by this means that we acquire in the country that 
quietude which flees from the tumults of the town, 
and those advantages of which the worldly-minded 
have no idea. 

What epicure ever enjoyed so much satisfaction 
in the midst of all his splendid entertainments, as 
Rousseau experienced in his frugal repasts ? " I re- 
turn slowly home," says he, " my mind in some de- 
gree fatigued, but my heart contented : I experience, 
on my return, the most agreeable relief, in resigning 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 231 

myself to the impression of objects, without exercis- 
ing my thoughts, indulging my imagination, or doing 
any thing but feeling the peace and happiness of my 
situation. I find my table ready spread on my lawn. 
I eat my supper with appetite in the company of my 
little family. No trace of servitude or dependence 
interrupts the love and kindness by which we are 
united: my dog himself is my friend, and not my 
slave : he never obeys me, for we have always the 
same inclinations. My gaiety testifies the Solitude 
in which I pass the day; for I am very different when 
company has interrupted me; I am seldom contented 
with others, and never with myself; and at night sit 
either grumbling or silent. This remark is my 
housekeeper's ; and since she mentioned it to me, I 
have found it invariably true from my own observa- 
tions. At length, after having taken a few turns in 
my garden, or sung some air to the music of my 
spinette, I experience upon my pillow a repose both 
of body and mind a hundred times more sweet than 
sleep itself/' 

Nature and a tranquil heart are to the Divinity a 
more beautiful and magnificent temple than the 
church of St. Peter at Rome, or the cathedral of St. 
Paul in London. The most savage desert is filled 
with the immensity of the Almighty, and his pre- 
sence sanctifies the solitary hill upon which a pure 
and peaceful heart offers up its sacrifice to him. He 
reads the hearts of all his creatures ; he every where 
hears the prayers of those whose invocations are 
sincere. Whether on the hill or in the dale, we do 



932 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

not find a grata of dust that is not filled with his 
spirit. But no places inspire ideas more religious 
than those happy scites, which, uniting the most 
sublime and beautiful appearances of nature, ravish 
the heart with voluptuous sensations, and excite in 
the mind sentiments of love, admiration, and repose. 

I never recall to my memory, without feeling 
the softest emotions, the sublime and magnificent 
scene which I enjoyed in the year 1775, when, during 
a fine day, accompanied by my friend Lavater, I as- 
cended the terrace of the house he then inhabited ; 
the house in which he was bcrn and educated. In 
whatever direction I turned my eyes, whether walk- 
ing or sitting, I experienced nearly the same sensa- 
tion which Brydone describes himself to have felt 
upon the top of iEtna.* I included in one view the 
city of Zurich, the smiling country which surrounds 
it, its tranquil and expanded lake, and the high 
mountains covered with frost and snow, lifting their 
majestic heads to Heaven. A divine tranquillity 
surrounded me while I beheld this scene. 

Upon this terrace I discovered the mystery which 
enabled Lavater, while he enjoyed so delicious a sen- 
sation of his existence and his powers, to walk calmly 
through the streets of Zurich, exposed to the obser- 

* Brydone says, " In proportion as we are raised above 
the habitations of men, all low and vulgar sentiments are 
left behind ; and the soul, in approaching the aethereal re- 
gions, shakes off its earthly affections, and already contracts 
.something of their invariable purity." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 233 

vations of the critics of that city, who were in the 
daily practice of venting their abuse against him, 
and of whom he so humbly asked pardon for the in- 
nocence of his life, which, according to the laws at 
least, they were unable to destroy. 

Upon this terrace I discovered the cause of his 
still cherishing with such unfeigned tenderness his 
implacable enemies, those learned critics of Zurich, 
whose rage the sound of his name was sufficient to 
excite, who felt with the greatest repugnance every 
thing that was praise-worthy in his character, and 
exposed with the highest feelings of joy those foibles 
and defects from which no man is entirely free ; who 
could not restrain their fury when his merits were 
praised, or his foibles extenuated ; who rejected with 
aversion every thing in his favour, and listened with 
eager triumph to the calumnies against him ; who 
are humbled by his glory as much as they are de- 
graded by their own infamy ; and who have the ac- 
complishment of his disgrace as much at heart as 
their own personal advantage; in whose breasts 
Lavater's happiness becomes a source of misery, and 
his misfortunes a fountain of joy ; who affect silence 
on his virtues, and loudly aggravate his defects, 
which they industriously circulate, rather indeed to 
their own injury than to his disgrace, for by these 
means they frequently increase the glory which they 
seek to extinguish ; who insidiously request the im- 
partial stranger to see the man, and judge for him. 
self; and have almost uniformly the mortification of 
perceiving, that Lavater is found to possess a charac- 



234 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

ter diametrically opposite to that, which the en- 
venomed tongues and pens of his enemies at Zurich 
have represented. 

At the village of Riehterswyl, a few leagues from 
Zurich, in a situation still more delicious and serene 
than even that where Lavater lived, surrounded by 
every object the most smiling, beautiful, and roman- 
tic, that Swisserland presents, dwells a celebrated 
physician. His soul is as tranquil and sublime as 
the scene of nature which surrounds him. His ha- 
bitation is the temple of health, friendship, and 
every peaceful virtue. The village is situated on the 
borders of the Lake, at a place where two projecting 
points of land form a natural bay of nearly half a 
league. On the opposite shores, the Lake, which is 
not quite a league in extent, is inclosed from the 
north to the east by pleasant hills, covered with vine- 
leaves, intermixed w r ith fertile meadows, orchards, 
fields, groves, and thickets, with little villages, 
churches, villas, and cottages, scattered up and 
down the scene. 

A wide and magnificent amphitheatre, which no 
artist has yet attempted to paint except in detached 
scenes, opens itself from the east to the south. The 
view towards the higher part of the Lake, which on 
this side is four leagues long, presents to the eye 
points of land, distant islands, the little town of Rap- 
perswyl built on the side of a hill, the bridge of 
which extends itself from one side of the Lake to the 
other. Beyond the town, the inexhaustible valley 
rises in a half circle to the sight. Upon the first 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 235 

ground plot is a peak of land, with hills about half 
a league distant from each other ; and, behind these, 
rise a range of mountains covered with trees and 
verdure, and interspersed with villages and detached 
houses. In the back-ground are discovered the fertile 
and majestic Alps, twisted one among the other, 
and exhibiting alternate shades of the lightest and 
darkest azure. Behind these Alps, rocks covered 
with eternal snows rear their majestic heads, and 
touch the clouds. Towards the south, the opening 
of the amphitheatre is continued by a new chain of 
mountains. This incomparable scene, thus enriched, 
continually affords new delights. 

The mountains extend themselves from the south 
to the west; the village of Richterswyl is situated at 
their feet upon the banks of the Lake : deep forests 
of firs cover the summit, and the middle is filled with 
fruit-trees, interspersed with rich fallows and fertile 
pastures, among which, at certain distances, a few 
houses are scattered. The village itself is neat, the 
streets are paved, and the houses, built of stone, are 
painted on the outside s. Around the village are 
walks formed on the banks of the Lake, or cut 
through shady forests to the hills. On every side, 
scenes, beautiful or sublime, strike the eye, and 
ravish the heart of the admiring traveller,- he stops 
and contemplates, with eager joy, the accumulating 
beauties ; his bosom swells with excess of pleasure ; 
and his breath continues for a time suspended, as if 
fearful of interrupting the fulness of his delight. 
Every acre of this charming country is in the highest 



Q36 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

state of cultivation and improvement. No part t)f it 
is suffered to lie un tilled ; every hand is at work ; and 
men, women, and children, from infancy to age, are 
all usefully employed. 

The two houses of the Physician are each of them 
surrounded by a garden 5 and, although situated in 
the middle of the village, are as rural and sequestered 
as if they had been built in the bosom of the country. 
Through the gardens, and in view of the chamber of 
my dear friend, flows a limpid stream, on the oppo- 
site side of which is the great road, where, during a 
succession of ages, a crowd of pilgrims have almost 
daily passed m their way to the hermitage. From 
these houses and gardens, at about the distance of a 
league, you behold, towards the south, the majestic 
Ezeberg rear its head : black forests conceal its top ; 
while below, on the declivity of the hill* hangs a 
village with a beautiful church, on the steeple of 
which the sun suspends his departing rays every 
evening before its course is finished. In the front is 
the lake of Zurich, the peaceful waters of which are 
secured from the violence of tempests, while its 
transparent surface reflects the beauties of its de- 
lightful banks. 

During the silence of night, if you repair to the 
chamber window, or indulge in a lonely walk through 
the gardens, to taste the refreshing scents which ex- 
hale from the surrounding flowers, while the moon, 
rising above the mountains, reflects on the expanse 
of the Lake a broad beam of light ; you hear, during 
this awful sleep of nature, the sound of the village 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 23T 

clocks echoing from the opposite shores ; and on the 
Richterswyl side the shrill proclamations of the 
watchmen blended with the barkings of the faithful 
dog. At a distance you hear the little boats softly 
gliding down the stream, dividing the water with 
their oars ; and perceive them, as they cross the 
moon's translucent beam, playing among the spark- 
ling waves. On viewing the Lake of Geneva in its 
full extent, the majesty of such a sublime picture 
strikes the spectator dumb; he thinks that he has 
discovered the chef d'oeuvre of creation; but here, 
near the Lake of Zurich at Richterswyl, the objects, 
being upon a smaller scale, are more soft, agreeable 
and touching. 

Riches and luxury are no where to be seen in the 
habitation of this philanthropist. His chairs are 
made of straw ; his tables worked from the wood of 
the country ; and he entertains his friends on a ser- 
vice of earthen plates. Neatness and convenience 
reign throughout. Drawings, paintings, and engrav- 
ings, of which he has a large collection, are his sole 
expence. The first beams of Aurora light the little 
chamber where this philosophic sage sleeps in peace- 
ful repose, and opens his eyes to every new day. 
Rising from his bed, he is saluted by the cooings of 
the turtle doves, and the morning song of birds who 
sleep with him in an adjoining chamber. 

The first hour of the morning and the last at 
night are sacred to himself ; but he devotes all the 
intermediate hours of the day to a diseased and 
afflicted multitude, who daily attend him for advice 



238 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and assistance. The benevolent exercise of his pro- 
fession engrosses every moment of his life, but it 
also constitutes his happiness and joy. The inhabi- 
tants of the mountains of Swisserland, as well as of 
the valleys of the Alps, resort to his house, and 
vainly seek for language to express the grateful feel- 
ings of their hearts. They are persuaded that the 
doctor sees and knows every thing ; they answer his 
questions with frankness and fidelity; they listen to 
his words, treasure up his advice like grains of gold, 
and leave him with more regret, consolation, hope, 
and virtuous resolution, than they quit their confes- 
sors at the hermitage. After a day spent in this 
manner, can it be imagined that any thing is want- 
ing to complete the happiness of this friend of man- 
kind? Yes; when a simple and ingenuous female, 
who had trembled with fear for the safety of her be- 
loved husband, enters his chamber, and seizing him 
fondly by the hand, exclaims, " My husband, sir, 
was very ill when I first came to you; but in the 
space of two days he quite recovered ! Oh, my dear 
sir, I am under the greatest obligations to you," 
then this philanthropic character feels that which 
ought to fill the bosom of a monarch in the moment 
when he confers happiness on his people. 

Of this description is the country of Swisserland, 
where doctor Hotze, the ablest physician of the pre- 
sent age, resides ; a physician and philosopher, 
whose pervading genius, profound judgment, and 
great experience, have placed him with Tissot and 
Hirtzel, the dearest friends of my heart. It is in 



ZJMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 239 

this manner he passes the hours of his life ; all uni- 
form, and all of them happy. His mind, active and 
full of vigour, never seeks repose ; but a divine 
quietude dwells within his heart. Palaces, alas 1 
seldom contain such characters. Individuals, how- 
ever, of every description, may cultivate an equal 
degree of happiness, although they do not reside 
amidst scenes so delightful as those of my beloved 
Hotze at Richterswyl, the convent of Capuchins 
near Albano, or the mansion of my sovereign at 
Windsor. 

The man who requires no more than he possesses 
is happy ; and such felicity is easily found at Rich- 
terswyl, and upon the banks of the Lake. It is not, 
however, confined to spots like these, but may be 
found even in such a chamber as that in which I am 
now writing this Treatise upon Solitude, where dur- 
ing seven years I had nothing to look at but some 
broken tiles and a vane upon the spire of an old 
church. 

Content must always derive its source from the 
heart : and in Solitude the bosom dilates more easily 
to receive it, with all the virtues by which it is ac- 
companied. How good, how affectionate does the 
heart become on the border of a clear spring, or 
under the shade of a branching pine ! In Solitude, 
the tranquillity of nature glides into the heart ; 
but, in society, we find much more occasion to flee 
from ourselves than from others. To be at peace 
with ourselves, we must be in peace with man- 
kind. While the heart is tranquil, the mind con- 



240 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

siders men and things in the most favourable and 
pleasing* point of view. In rural retirements, where 
it is open only to agreeable sensations, we learn to 
love our fellow-creatures. While all nature smiles 
around us, and our souls overflow with benevolence, 
we wish for more hearts than one to participate in 
our happiness. 

By mild and peaceful dispositions, therefore, the 
felicities of domestic life are relished in a much 
higher degree in rural retirement, than in any other 
situation whatever. The most splendid courts in 
Europe afford no joys to equal these; and their 
vain pleasures can never assuage the justifiable grief 
of him who, contrary to his inclination, feels himself 
torn from such a felicity, dragged into the palaces of 
kings, and obliged to conform to the frivolous amuse- 
ments practised there, where people do nothing but 
game and yawn, and among whom the reciprocal 
communication of languors, hatred, envy, flattery, 
and calumny, alone prevails.* 

It is in rural life alone that true pleasures, the 
love, the honour, and the chaste manners of ancient 
days are revived. Rousseau, therefore, says with 

* Madanie de Maintenon wrote from Marli to raadame 
de Caylus, " We pass our lives here in a very singular 
manner : wit, gallantry, and cheerfulness should prevail ; 
but of all these qualities we are totally destitute : we game, 
yawn, fatigue ourselves, reciprocally receive and communi- 
cate vexations, hate, envy, caress, and calumniate each 
other.' 



ZIMMERMANN OS SOLITUDE. 241 

great truth to [the inhabitants of cities, that the 
country affords delights of which they have no idea ; 
that these delights are less insipid, less unpolished, 
than they can conceive; that taste, variety, and deli- 
cacy, may be enjoyed there; that a man of merit, 
who retires with his family into the country, and 
employs himself in farming, will find his days pass 
as pleasantly as in the most brilliant assemblies; 
that a good housewife in the country may be a 
charming woman, adorned with every agreeable 
qualification, and possess graces much more capti- 
vating than all those prim and affected females whom 
we see in towns. 

The mind under refreshing shades, in agree- 
able vallies, and delightful retreats, forgets all the 
unpleasant circumstances it encountered in the 
world. The most profligate and wicked charac- 
ters are no longer remembered in society, when 
they are no longer seen. It is only in the tumultu- 
ous scenes of civil life, and under the heavy yoke 
of subordination, that the continual shock of reason 
and good-sense against the stupidity of those who 
govern spreads a torrent of miseries over human life. 
Fools in power render the lives of their inferiors 
bitter, poison their pleasures, overturn all social 
order, spread thorns in the path of genius and virtue, 
and make this world a vale of tears. Oh ! that ho-, 
nourablemen, brave and skilful generals, able states- 
men, should have reason to exclaim with the philo- 
sopher, " Had I the wings of a dove, I would fly 
where inclination leads me, and fix my dwelling as 

M 



242 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

chance might direct. Distant should be my flight 1 
I would seek some desert ; and hasten to escape the 
surrounding- tempest of the court, the army, and the 
city, where hypocrisy, malice, falsehood, and disor- 
der prevail." 

Stupidity, when it has gained credit and autho- 
rity, becomes more dangerous and hurtful than any 
other quality ; it always inclines to render every 
thing as little as itself, gives to every thing a 
false name, and mistakes every character for the 
opposite to what it really is; in a word, stupidity 
changes white into black, and black into white. 
Men of frank, honest, liberal dispositions, therefore, 
if they would escape from its persecution, must act 
like the fox of Saadi, the Indian fabulist. 

A person one day observing a fox running with 
great speed towards his hole, called out to him, 
" Reynard, where are you running in so great a 
hurry ? Have you done any mischief for which you 
are fearful of being punished?" — " No, sir," replied 
the fox, " my conscience is clear, and does not re- 
proach me with any thing; but I have just overheard 
the hunters wish that they had a camel to hunt this 
morning." — "Well, but how does that concern you? 
You are not a camel." — " Oh ! sir," replied the fox, 
"sagacious heads always have enemies. If any should 
point me out to the huntsmen, and say, ' There runs 
a camel V those gentlemen would immediately seize 
me, and load me with chains, without once enquiring 
whether I was in fact the kind of animal the infor- 
mer had described me to be." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 243 

Reynard was perfectly right in his observation : 
but it is lamentable that men should be wicked in 
proportion as they are stupid, or that they should be 
wicked only because they are envious. If I should 
ever become an object of wrath to such characters, 
from their conceiving- that I enjoy more happiness 
than themselves, and it is impossible for me to 
escape from their persecutions, I will revenge myself 
by letting them perceive that no man living is to me 
an object of scandal. 

The self-love of that breast which feels no desire 
for more than it possesses, is invulnerable. The temper 
which results from a life simple, regular, and serene, 
guards the heart against the excess of desire. A con- 
stant examination of our characters discovers to us 
our deficiency in many of those qualifications which, 
in the opinions of others, we are supposed to possess; 
and in consequence the advantages we gam, as well 
as all the happiness we feel, appear to be the effect 
of favours conferred on us. This reason alone ren- 
ders it impossible that we should repine at the hap- 
piness of another; for candour will force a man who 
lives continually by himself, and acts with sincerity 
of heart, to reflect upon his own defects, and to do 
justice to the superior merit of other men. 

" I should wish to end my days in the delightful 
Solitudes of Lausanne," says a French historian of 
that province, " far retired from the tumultuous 
scenes of the world, from avarice and deceit ; in those 
Solitudes where a thousand innocent pleasures are 
enjoyed and renewed without end : there we escape 



244 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

from profligate discourse, from unmeaning* chatter, 
from envy, detraction, and jealousy. Smiling plains^ 
the extent of which the astonished eye is incapable 
of measuring, and which it is impossible to see with- 
out admiring the goodness of the Divine Creator ; 
so many different animals wandering peaceably 
among each other; so many birds making the woods 
re-echo to their songs ; so many wonders of na- 
ture wooing the mind to awful contemplation." 

In Germany, whichever way you turn your eyes, 
you find, as in the Solitudes of Lausanne, happy 
families, enjoying more pure and genuine pleasures 
than are ever seen or felt in fashionable life. The 
industrious citizen returning in the evening to his 
wife and children, after having honourably per- 
formed the labours of the day, feels without doubt 
more real content than any courtier. If the voice 
of the public or his fellow-citizens, instead of ren- 
dering the esteem and honour which his character 
merits, treats his zeal with contempt, and his good 
works with ungrateful neglect; he forgets the in- 
justice in the bosom of his happy family, when he 
sees their arms open ready to receive him, and ob- 
tains from them the praise and approbation he 
deserves. With what delight his heart feels the 
value of their fondness and affection ! If the eclat of 
fashionable life, the splendour of courts, the triumph 
of power and grandeur, have left his bosom cold and 
comfortless; if the base practices of fraud, false- 
hood, hypocrisy, and puerile vanities, have irritated 
and soured his mind; he no sooner mixes in the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITDE. 245 

circle of those whom he cherishes, than a genial 
warmth re-animates his dejected heart, the tenderest 
sentiments inspire his soul with courage, and the 
truth, freedom, probity, and innocence by which he 
is surrounded, reconcile him to the lot of huma- 
nity. — On the contrary, the man who enjoys a more 
elevated situation, the favourite of a minister, the 
companion of the great, loved by the women, and 
admired in every public place as the leader of the 
fashion, his birth high, and his fortunes rich; yet if 
his home be the seat of discord and jealousy, and the 
bosom of his family a stranger to that peace which 
the wise and virtuous taste under a roof of thatch, 
would all these dazzling pleasures compensate for 
this irreparable loss ? 

These are my sentiments on the advantages which 
Solitude possesses to reconcile us to the lot of huma- 
nity and the practices of the world : but I shall here 
only cite the words of another; the words of a doctor 
of divinity of the same tenets with myself; a judi- 
cious theologian, who does not inculcate imperious 
doctrines, or propagate a religion which offends the 
heart. They are the words of his sermon upon Do- 
mestic Happiness, of that incomparable discourse 
which men of every description ought to read, as 
well as all the other sermons of Zollikofer. 

" Solitude," says this divine, " secures us from 
the aspersions of light and frivolous minds, from the 
unjust contempt and harsh judgments of the envious; 
preserves us from the afflicting spectacle of follies, 
crimes, and misery, which so frequently disgrace the 
theatre of active and social life ; extinguishes the fire 



246 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of those passions which are too lively and ardent; 
and establishes peace in our hearts/* 

These are the sentiments of my beloved Zolli- 
kofer; the truth of which I have experienced. 
When my enemies conceived that accidents, how- 
ever trifling-, would trouble my repose 5 when I was 
told with what satisfaction the coteries would hear 
of my distress, that less belles dames would leap for 
joy, and form a cluster round the man who detailed 
the injuries I had received, and those which were 
yet in store for me ; I said to myself, " Although my 
enemies should have sworn to afflict me with a thou- 
sand deaths, what harm can they really do me ? What 
can epigrams and pleasantries prove ? What sting do 
those satirical engravings carry, which they have 
taken the pains to circulate through every part of 
Swisserland and Germany ?" 

The thorns over which the steady foot walks 
unhurt, or kicks from beneath it with contempt, 
inflict no wounds; they hurt only effeminate minds, 
who feel that as a serious injury of which others 
think nothing. Characters of this description require 
to be treated, like young and tender flowers, with 
delicacy and attention, for; they cannot bear the touch 
of rude and violent hands. But he who has exercised 
his powers in the severest trials, and combated with 
adversity, who feels his soul superior to the false 
opinions and prejudices of the world, neither sees 
nor feels the blow ; he resigns trifles to the narrow 
minds which they occupy, and looks down with 
courage and contempt upon the vain boastings of 
such miserable insects. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 247 

To despise or forget the malice of our enimies, 
however, it is not always necessary to call to our 
assistance soft zephyrs, clear springs, well-stored 
rivers, thick forests, refreshing grottoes, verdant 
banks, or fields adorned with flowers- Oh ! how soon, 
in the tranquillity of retirement, every antipathy is 
obliterated ! All the little crosses of life, obloquies, 
injustice, every low and trifling care, vanish like 
smoke before him who has courage to live according 
to his own taste and inclination. That which we do 
voluntarily always affords pleasure. The restraints 
of the world, and the slavery of society, poison the 
pleasures of free minds, and deprive them of every 
satisfaction, content, and power, even when placed 
in a sphere of elegance, easy in fortune, and sur- 
rounded by affluence. 

Solitude, therefore, not only brings quietude to 
the heart, renders it kind and virtuous, and raises it 
above the malevolence of envy, wickedness, and stu- 
pidity, but affords advantages still more valuable. 
Liberty, true liberty, is no where so easily found as 
in a distant retirement from the tumults of men, and 
every forced connection with the world. It has been 
truly said, that in Solitude Man recovers from that 
distraction which had torn him from himself; that he 
feels in his mind a clear and intimate knowledge of 
what he was, and of what he may become; that he 
lives more within himself and for himself than in 
external objects ; that he enters into the state of na- 
ture and freedom ; no longer plays an artificial part, 
no longer represents a different personage, but 



248 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

thinks, speaks, and acts according to his proper 
character and sentiments ; that he discovers the whole 
extent of his character, and does not act beyond it ; 
that he no longer dreads a severe master, an impe- 
rious tyrant; he ridicules no one, is himself proof 
against the shafts of calumny, and neither the con- 
straints of business nor the ceremonies of fashion 
disquiet his mind ; but, breaking through the shackles 
of servile habit and arbitrary custom, he thinks with 
confidence and courage, and the sensibilities of his 
heart resign themselves to the sentiments of his 
mind. 

Madame de Stael considered it as a great and 
vulgar error to suppose that freedom and liberty 
could be enjoyed at court; where, even in the most 
minute actions of our lives, we are obliged to be so 
observant; where it is impossible to think aloud; 
where our sentiments must be regulated by the cir- 
cumstances of those around us ; where every person 
we approach assumes the right of scrutinizing our 
characters; and where we never have the smallest 
enjoyment of ourselves* " The enjoyment of one's- 
self," says she, " can only be found in Solitude. It 
was within the walls of the Bastile that I first became 
acquainted with myself." 

Men of liberal minds are as ill qualified by nature 
to be chamberlains, and to conduct the etiquette of a 
court, as women are to be religieuses. The courtier, 
fearful of every thing he sees, always upon the watch, 
incessantly tormented by suspicion, yet obliged to 
preserve the face of serenity and satisfaction, is like 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 249 

the old woman always lighting one taper to Michael 
the archangel, and another to the Devil, because he 
does not know for which of them he may have most 
occasion. 

Such precautions and restraints are insupportable 
to every man who is not born a courtier. In situa- 
tions therefore less connected with the world, men of 
liberal minds, sound understandings, and active dis- 
positions, break all the chains by which they are 
withheld. To find any pleasure in the fumes of 
fashion, it is necessary to have been trained up in 
the habits of a court. The defect of judgment which 
reigns in courts, without doubt magnifies the most 
trifling details into matters of high importance; and 
the long constraint which the soul there endures, 
makes many things appear easy to a courtier which, 
for want of habit, would carry torment to the bosom 
of another. Who has not experienced what it is to 
be forced to remain fixed upon one's chair a whole 
evening, even in common society, without knowing 
on what subject to converse, and of course without 
being able to say any thing ? Who has not occasion- 
ally found himself in company with those who wil- 
lingly listen to sensible conversation, but never con- 
tribute a single idea to the promotion of it themselves ? 
Who has not seen his thoughts fall upon minds so 
barren, that they produce no return, and slide through 
the ears of auditors like water upon oil-cloth ? 

How many men of contemplative minds are the 
slaves of fools and madmen ! How many rational 
beings pass their lives in bondage, by being unfortu- 

M 3 



250 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 

nately attached to a worthless faction ! How many 
men of excellent understandings are condemned to 
perform a pitiful part in many provincial towns! 
The company of a man who laughs at every thing 
that is honourable, and rejects those sentiments 
which lead to love and esteem, soon becomes in* 
supportable. There are no worse tyrants than the 
prejudices of mankind j and the chains of servitude 
become weighty in proportion to the public ignorance. 
To form a serious thought of pleasing in public life, 
is vain ; for to succeed in such an endeavour, we 
must sacrifice all thought, surrender every real sen- 
timent, despise every thing which rational minds 
esteem, and esteem every thing that a man of under- 
standing and good sense despises, or else, by blindly 
dashing forward upon all occasions, hazard content, 
tranquillity, and fortune. 

A rural residence, or a tranquil and domestic life 
in town, will secure us from these constraints, and 
is the only mean of rendering us free and independent 
of those situations which are as hostile to happiness 
as they are repugnant to good sense. But to render 
Solitude free from constraint, we must neither take 
the habit of monachism, nor like the doge of Venice, 
wear the diadem of sovereignty. This abject slave 
cannot visit a friend, or receive a foreign ambassador, 
without a special permission from the senate for the 
purpose. Solitude and dependence are universally 
acknowledged to be the highest prerogatives of his 
crown. 

The soul, relieved from these torments, becomes 



2IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. £51 

sensible in Solitude of its powers, and attains a clear 
and intimate knowledge of its perfections. Liberty 
and leisure, therefore, always render a rational and 
active mind indifferent to every other kind of hap- 
piness. 

The love of liberty rendered all the pleasures of 
the world odious to the mind of Petrarch. In his 
old age he was solicited to officiate as secretary to dif- 
ferent popes, at whatever salary he thought proper 
to fix ; and indeed every inducement that emolu- 
ment could afford was insidiously made use of to 
turn his views that way, (< Riches," replied Petrarch, 
(< when acquired at the expence of liberty, are the 
cause of real misery; and a yoke made of gold or 
silver is not less oppressive than if made of iron or 
lead." To him the world afforded no wealth equal 
in value to liberty and leisure ; and he told his 
patrons, that he could not renounce the pleasures of 
science ; that he had despised riches at a time when 
he was most in need of them, and it would be shame- 
ful to seek them now, when it was more easy for 
him to do without them ; that he should apportion 
the provision for his journey according to the dis- 
tance he had to travel; and that having almost 
reached the end of his course, he ought to think 
more of his reception at the inn than of his expences 
on the road. 

A distaste of the manners of a court led Petrarch 
into Solitude when he was only three and twenty 
years of age, although in his outward appearance, in 
his attention to dress, and even in his constitution, 



252 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

he possessed all the attributes of a complete courtier. 
He was in every respect formed to please : the beauty 
of his figure excited universal admiration, and people 
stopped and pointed him out as he walked along. His 
eyes were bright and full of fire : his lively counte- 
nance proclaimed the vivacity of his mind; the 
freshest colour glowed upon his cheeks; his features 
were distinct and manly; his shape fine and elegant; 
his person tall, and his presence noble. The genial 
climate of Avignon increased the warmth of his con- 
stitution. The fire of youth, the beauties assembled 
at the court of the pope from every nation in Europe, 
and, above all, the dissolute manners of the court 
led him very early into connections with women. A 
great portion of the day was spent at his toilet in the 
decorations of dress : his habit was always white ; and 
the least spot or an improper fold gave his mind the 
greatest uneasiness. Even in the fashion of his shoes 
he avoided every form that appeared inelegant ; they 
were extremely tight, and cramped his feet to such a 
degree, that it would in a short time have been im- 
possible for him to walk, if he had not recollected 
that it was much better to shock the eyes of the 
ladies than to make himself a cripple. In walking 
through the streets, he endeavoured to avoid the 
rudeness of the wind by every possible means ; not 
that he was afraid of taking cold, but because he 
was fearful of deranging the dress of his hair. A love, 
however, as elevated as it was ardent, for virtue and 
the belles lettres, always counterbalanced his devo- 
tion to the sex. To express his passion for the fair, 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 253 

he wrote all his poetry in Italian, and only used 
the learned languages upon serious and important 
subjects. But, notwithstanding the warmth of his 
constitution, he was always chaste. He held all de- 
bauchery in the utmost detestation ; the least devia- 
tion from virtue tortured his feelings with remorse ; 
and he inveighed with acrimony against the sensibi- 
lity by which he had been betrayed : " I should like," 
said he, f ' to have a heart as hard as adamant, rather 
than be so continually tormented by such seducing 
passions." Among the number of fine women who 
adorned the court at Avignon, there were some who 
endeavoured to captivate his heart. Seduced by their 
charms, and drawn aside by the facility with which he 
obtained the happiness of their company, he became, 
upon closer acquaintance, obedient to all their wishes; 
but the inquietudes and torments of love so much 
alarmed his mind, that he endeavoured to shun her 
toils. Before his acquaintance with Laura he was 
wilder than a stag; and, if tradition maybe believed, 
he had not, until the age of thirty-five, any occasion 
to reproach himself with misconduct. Religion, 
virtue, and the fruits of the education he received 
from his mother, preserved him from the numerous 
dangers by which he was surrounded. 

The practice of the civil law was at this period 
the only road to eminence at Avignon ; but Petrarch 
detested the venality of the profession. Previous to 
devoting himself to the church, he exercised for some 
time the profession of an advocate, and gained many 
causes ; but he reproached himself with it afterwards. 



£54 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

*' In my youth," said he, " I devoted myself to the 
trade of selling words, or rather of telling* lies ; but 
that which we do against our inclination is seldom 
attended with success. My fondness was for Solitude* 
and I therefore attended the practice of the bar with 
the greater detestation." The secret consciousness 
which he entertained of his own merit gave him, it is 
true, all the vain confidence of youth ; and filled his 
mind with that lofty spirit which begets the pre- 
sumption of being equal to every thing; but his 
inveterate hatred of the manners of the court impeded 
his exertions. <e I have no hope/' said he, in the 
thirty-fifth year of his age, " of making my fortune 
in the court of the vicar of Jesus Christ ; to accom- 
plish that, I must assiduously visit the palaces of the 
great ; I must flatter, lie, and deceive." Petrarch was 
not capable of doing this. He neither hated men nor 
disliked advancement, but he detested the means he 
must necessarily have used to attain it. He loved 
glory, and ardently sought it, though not by the ways 
in which it is generally obtained. He delighted to 
walk in the most unfrequented paths, and, of course, 
he renounced the world. 

The aversion which he felt from the manners 
which are peculiar to courts was the particular occa- 
sion of his Essay upon Solitude. In the year 1346 
he was, as usual, during Lent, at Vaucluse. The 
bishop of Cavaillon, anxious to enjoy the conversa- 
tion of his friend, and to taste the sweets of retire- 
ment, fixed his residence at the castle, a mansion 
situated upon the summit of a high rock, and, in 



2JMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 255 

appearance, better constructed for the habitation of 
birds than men; the ruins of which at present only 
remain. The scenes of which the bishop and Pe- 
trarch had been witnesses at Avignon and Naples, 
inspired them with disgust of cities, and with con- 
tempt for the manners of a profligate court. They 
weighed all the unpleasant circumstances they had 
before experienced, and opposed the situations which 
produced them to the advantages of Solitude. This 
was the usual subject of their conversation at the 
castle, and that which gave birth in the mind of 
Petrarch to the resolution of uniting in one work all 
his own ideas and those of others upon this delight- 
ful subject. It was begun in Lent, and finished at 
Easter ; but he revised and corrected it afterwards, 
making many alterations, and adding every thing 
which occurred to his mind previous to the publica- 
tion. It was not till the year 1366, twenty years 
afterwards, that he sent it to the bishop of Cavaillon* 
to whom it was dedicated. 

If all that I have said of Petrarch in the course of 
this work were to be collected into one point of view, 
it would be seen what very important sacrifices he 
made to Solitude. But his mind and his heart were 
framed to enjoy the advantages it affords with a 
superior degree of delight; a happiness which he 
obtained from his hatred of a court and his love of 
liberty. 

The love of liberty was also the cause of Rous- 
seau's violent disgust for society, and in Solitude 
became the source of all his pleasures. His letters 



S56 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

to Malherbe discover the genius of the writer and the 
nature of the man, as much as his Confessions, which 
have not been better understood than his character, 
" I mistook for a great length of time," says he in 
one of them, the cause of that invincible disgust 
which I always felt in the commerce of the world. 1 
attributed it to the mortification of not possessing 
that quick and ready talent necessary to discover in 
conversation the little knowledge I possessed ; and 
this beat back an idea that I did not occupy that 
station in the opinion of mankind which I conceived 
I merited. But after having scribbled a great quan- 
tity of paper, 1 was perfectly convinced that even in 
saying many ridiculous things I was in no danger of 
being taken for a fool, when I perceived myself 
sought after by all the world, and honoured with 
much more consideration than even my own ridicu- 
lous vanity would have ventured to expect; and that, 
notwithstanding this, I felt the same disgust rather 
augmented than diminished, I concluded that it must 
arise from some other cause, and that these were not 
the kind of enjoyments for which I must look. 
" What then, in fact, is the cause of it ? It is no 
other than that invincible spirit of liberty which 
nothing can overcome, and in comparison with which 
honour, fortune, and even fame itself, are to me no- 
thing. It is certain that this spirit of liberty is 
engendered less by pride, than by indolence; but 
this indolence is incredible ; it is alarmed at every 
thing; it renders the most trifling duties of civil life 
insupportable: to be obliged to speak a word, to 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 257 

write a letter, or to pay a visit, are to me, from the 
moment the obligation arises, the severest punish- 
ments. This is the reason why, although the 
ordinary commerce of men is odious to me, the 
pleasures of private friendship are so dear to my 
heart; for in the indulgence of private friendships 
there are no duties to perform; we have only to 
follow the feelings of the heart, and all is done. 
This is the reason also why I have so much dreaded 
to accept of favours ; for every act of kindness de- 
mands an acknowledgment; and I feel that my heart 
J s ungrateful, only because gratitude becomes a duty. 
The kind of happiness, in short, which pleases me 
best, does not consist so much in doing what I wish, 
as in avoiding that which is repugnant to my inclina- 
tion. Active life affords no temptations to me; I 
would a hundre I times rather do nothing at all than 
that which I dislike ; and I have frequently thought 
that I should not have lived very unhappily even in 
the B as tile, provided I was free from every other re- 
straint than that of merely residing within its walls.'* 
The advantages of a tranquil leisure were never 
felt with higher delight than by Rousseau ; these 
enjoyments, however, are equally within the reach of 
every individual. <c When my torments," says this 
amiable philosopher, " oblige me to count the long 
and sorrowful progress of the night, and the violence 
of my fever prevents me from enjoying one moment's 
sleep, I frequently forget my condition in reflecting 
on the various events of my life, and recollection, 
repentance, regret, and pity, divide those attention, 



258 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

in which I bury, for a few moments, all my sufferings. 
What situations do you conceive, sir, I most fre- 
quently and most cheerfully recall to my mind in 
these meditations ? Not the pleasures of my youth ; 
they were too few, too much blended with bitterness, 
and are now too distant from my thoughts ; but the 
pleasures of my retirement, my solitary walks, the 
transient though delicious days which I passed en- 
tirely with myself, with my good old housekeeper, 
my faithful well-beloved dog, my old cat, the birds 
of the fields, and the beasts of the forests, surrounded 
by all the charms of nature, and their divine and in- 
comprehensible Author. Repairing to my garden 
before day-break, to wait for and contemplate the 
rising sun, my first prayer was, when I discovered 
the symptoms of a fine day, that neither messages 
nor visitors might disturb the charm. After having 
devoted the morning to various cares, which, as I 
could put them off till another time, I always attended 
to with pleasure, I hastened to my dinner, that I 
might avoid unpleasant visitors, and thereby procure 
a longer afternoon. Before one o'clock, even in the 
hottest days of summer, while the sun shone in 
meridian splendour, I walked forth with my faithful 
Achates, hurrying along, fearful lest some one might 
seize hold of me before I was secure in my escape ; 
but when I had once turned a certain corner, and felt 
myself free from danger, with what palpitation of 
heart, with what lively joy I drew my breath, and 
exclaimed, Now I am master of my time for the 
remainder of the day ! I then walked with tranquil 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 250, 

steps in search of some wild sequestered spot in the 
forest, some desert place, where no object, touched 
by the hands of men, announced servitude and domi- 
nation ; some asylum, into which I might fancy that 
I alone had first entered, and where no impertinent 
intruder might interpose between nature and my- 
self." 

Who would not willingly ronounce the dissipa- 
tions of the world for these calm enjoyments of the 
heart? the splendid slavery of society for this in- 
estimable liberty? I am perfectly aware, that man- 
kind in general are not in a situation so favourable 
to self-enjoyment; let them however try the pure 
pleasures of the country, and they will find that one 
day of liberty, one hour of quiet, will effectually cure 
them of their anxiety for feasts, shows, finery, and 
all the noisy nonsense of fashion and folly. 

Pope Clement the sixth offered to Petrarch not 
only the office of apostolic secretary, but many con- 
siderable bishoprics. Petrarch constantly refused 
him. " You will not accept of any thing I offer to 
you I" said the holy father : " Ask of me what you 
please." Two months afterwards Petrarch wrote to 
one of his friends, Every degree of elevation creates 
new suspicions in my mind, because I perceive the 
misfortunes that attend them. Would they but 
grant me that happy mediocrity so preferable to 
gold, and which they have promised me, I should 
accept the gift with gratitude and cordiality ; but if 
they only intend to invest me with some important 
employment, I shall refuse it. I will shake off the 



260 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

yoke ; for I had much rather live poor than become 
a slave." 

An Englishman somewhere asks, " Why are the 
inhabitants of the rich plains of Lombard y, where 
nature pours her gifts in such profusion, less opulent 
than those of the mountains of Swisserland? Be- 
cause freedom, whose influence is more benign than 
sunshine and zephyrs ; who covers the rugged rock 
with soil, drains the sickly swamp, and clothes the 
brown heath in verdure ; who dresses the labourer's 
face with smiles, and makes him behold his increas- 
ing family with delight and exultation ; freedom has 
abandoned the fertile fields of Lombardy, and dwells 
among the mountains of Swisserland." 

This is the warm enthusiasm of poetry ; but it is 
literally true at Uri, Schwitz, Underwald, Zug, Gla- 
ris, and Appenzel. For he who has more than his 
wants require is rich ; and whoever is enbled to 
think, to speak, and to employ himself as his inclina- 
tion may direct, is free. 

Competency and liberty, therefore, are the true 
sweeteners of life. That state of mind, so rarely 
possessed, in which we can sincerely say " I have 
enough," is the highest attainment of philosophy. 
Happiness consists not in having too much, but suf- 
ficient. Kings and princes are unhappy, because 
they always desire more than they possess, and are 
continually stimulated to accomplish more than it is 
within their power to attain. Great and good kings 
are not to blame, if they sometimes say, " My sod, I 
am deaf to-day on my left ear." 



ZIMHERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 26l 

Men in general endeavour to appear much hap- 
pier than in fact they are ; and consider every thing 
which detracts from this appearance as a real mis- 
fortune. But happiness ought to be concealed, ex- 
cept from the eye of friendship and love; for envy is 
its direst foe ; ever watchful to find its way to the 
happy bosom, and eager to destroy its repose. 

He who only wants little has always enough. " I 
am contented," says Petrarch, in a letter to his friends 
the cardinals Taleyrand and Bologno, " I desire no- 
thing more. I have placed limits to my desire. I 
enjoy every thing that is necessary to life. Cincin- 
natus, Curius, Fabricius, and Regulus, after having 
conquered nations and led kings in triumph, were 
not so rich as I am. But I should always be poor if 
I were to open a door to my passions. Luxury, am- 
bition, avarice, know no bounds ; and desire is a fa- 
thomless abyss. I have clothes to cover me, victuals 
to support me; horses to carry me; lands to lie down 
or walk upon while I am alive, and to receive my 
remains when I die. What more did any Roman 
emperor possess ? My body is healthy ; and the flesh, 
subdued by labour, is less rebellious against the 
spirit. I have books of every kind, which to me are 
inestimable treasures ; they fill my soul with a vo- 
luptuous delight untinctured with remorse. I have 
friends, whom I consider more precious than any 
thing I possess, provided their counsels do not tend 
to deprive me of my liberty. I know of no other 
enemies than those which envy has raised against 
me. I despise them from the bottom of my heart ; 



262 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and perhaps it would be unhappy for ine if they were 
not my enemies. I still reckon among my riches 
the love and kindness of all the good men who are 
upon earth, even of those whom 1 have never seen* 
and perhaps never shall see." 

From this passage we discover that envy followed 
Petrarch into the retreats of Solitude. He frequently 
complains of it ; but in this letter he treats it pro- 
perly. He despises his envious enemies, and would 
be sorry if he were without them. 

Solitude discovers to mankind their real wants. 
Where great simplicity of manners prevails, men 
always possess sufficient for the enjoyment of life. 
Ignorant of those things which others desire or pos- 
sess, the mind cannot entertain an idea of any good 
which they can possibly produce. An old country 
curate residing upon a lofty mountain near the lake 
of Thun, in the canton of Bern, was one day pre- 
sented with a moor-cock. The good man was igno- 
rant of the rarity he had received, and consulted 
with his cook what he should do with it. The pas- 
tor and the cook agreed to bury it in the ground. 
Alas ! were we all as ignorant of moor-cocks, we 
should all be as happy as the curate of the mountain 
near the lake of Thun. 

He who places limits to his real wants is more 
wise, more rich, and more contented than us all. The 
system upon which he acts partakes of the noble 
simplicity of his mind. He finds felicity in the most 
obscure life, in situations at the greatest distance 
from the world. Truth is the only object of his af- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 263 

fection ; he follows that philosophy which requires 
but little, has few wants, and seeks his highest hap- 
piness in a contented mind. 

Pope, when only twelve years of age, wrote an 
affecting and agreeable Ode upon the subject of So- 
litude, which comprehends the very essence of this 
philosophy. 

ODE ON SOLITUDE. 

Happy the man whose wish and care 

A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air 

In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 

Whose flocks supply him with attire, 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
In winter, fire. 

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 

Hours, days and years slide soft away, 
In health of body, peace of mind, 

Quiet by day. 

Sound sleep by night 5 study and ease, 
Together mix'd • sweet recreation ! 
And innocence, which most does please 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live unseen, unknown, 

Thus unlamented let me die, 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie. 

A calm and tranquil life renders even sensuality 
itself more simple, peaceful, and less alarming. The 



264 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

field of sensual pleasures is to the worldly-minded 
parched up and barren ; it is noisy and tumultuous ; 
filled with vineyards, banqueting-houses, wanton 
dancing's, infirmaries, tombs upon which the roses 
fade, and dark shades for the purpose of guilty assig- 
nations. But to the mind of him who shuns such 
brutal joys, such gross voluptuousness, the pleasures 
of sense are of a more elevated kind ; soft, sublime, 
pure, permanent, and tranquil. 

The insolence of wealth disappears in the sim- 
plicity of rural life. The bosom learns to enjoy sen- 
sations very different from those it experienced in 
the world. The sentiments of the mind are ren- 
dered more free ; the feelings of the heart more pure ; 
neither heated by profusion, nor extinguished by 
satiety. 

Petrarch one day inviting his friend the cardinal 
Colonna to visit his retirement at Vaucluse, wrote 
to him " If you prefer the tranquillity of the country 
to the tu mults of the town, come here, and enjoy 
yourself. Do not be alarmed at the simplicity of my 
table, or the hardness of my beds. Kings them- 
selves are sometimes disgusted with luxury, and pre- 
fer the pleasures of a more frugal repast. They are 
pleased by the change of scene; and occasional in- 
terruption does not render their pleasures less lively. 
But if you wish only to enjoy your accustomed lux- 
ury, what is to prevent your bringing with you the 
most exquisite viands, the wines of Vesuvius, dishes 
of sil ver, and every thing that can delight the senses. 
Leave the rest to me. I promise to provide you with 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 26j 

a bed of the finest turf, a cooling shade, a concert of 
nightingales, figs, raisins, water drawn from the 
freshest springs, and, in short, every thing that the 
hand of nature presents to true pleasure." 

Ah ! who would not willingly renounce those 
things which only produce disquietude in the mind, 
for those which render it contented ? The art of oc- 
casionally diverting the imagination, taste, and pas- 
sions, affords new and unknown enjoyments to the 
mind, and confers pleasure without pain, and luxury 
without repentance. The senses, deadened by sa- 
tiety, revive to new enjoyments. The lively twitter 
of the groves, and the murmur of the brooks, yield 
a more delicious pleasure to the ear than the music 
of the opera, or the compositions of the ablest mas- 
ters. The eye reposes more agreeably on the con- 
cave firmament, on an expanse of waters, on moun- 
tains covered with rocks, than it does on balls, as- 
semblies, and petits soupers. The mind enjoys in 
Solitude objects which were before insupportable ; 
and reclining on the bosom of simplicity, easily re- 
nounces every vain delight. Petrarch wrote from 
Vaucluse to one of his friends, " I have made war 
against my corporeal powers, for I find they are my 
enemies. My eyes, which have occasioned me to 
commit so many follies, are now confined to the view 
of a single woman, old, black, and sun-burnt. If 
Helen and Lucretia had possessed such a face, Troy 
would never have been reduced to ashes, or Tarquin 
driven from the empire of the world. But to com- 
pensate these defects, she is faithful, submissive, and 

N 



266 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

industrious. She passes whole days in the fields ; 
and her shrivelled skin defies the burning* sun, even 
in the hottest dog-days. My wardrobe still contains 
fine clothes, but I never wear them : and you would 
take me for a common labourer or a simple shep- 
herd; I who was formerly so anxious about my dress. 
But the reasons which then prevailed no longer exist; 
the fetters by which I was enslaved are broken ; the 
eyes which I was anxious to please are shut ; and if 
they were still open, they would not perhaps now be 
able to maintain the same empire over my heart." 

Solitude, by stripping worldly objects of that 
false splendour with which the imagination arrays 
them, destroys the vain ambition of the mind. Ac- 
customed to rural pleasure, and indifferent to every 
other, a wise man no longer feels power and dignities 
worthy of his desires. Cincinnatus, a noble Roman, 
was overwhelmed with tears on being obliged to ac- 
cept the consulship, because it would for one year 
deprive him of the pleasure of cultivating his fields. 
He was called from the plough to the command of 
the army of the empire ; he defeated the enemy, pos- 
sessed himself of the provinces, made his triumphal 
entry into Rome, and at the expiration of sixteen 
days returned to his plough. 

The inmate of an humble cottage, who is forced 
to earn his daily bread by labour, and the owner of 
a spacious mansion, for whom every luxury is pro- 
vided, are not held in equal estimation by mankind. 
But let the man who has experienced both these 
situations be asked, under which of them he experi 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 267 

enced the most content. The cares and inquietudes 
of the palace are innumerably greater than those of 
the cottage ; in the former, discontent poisons every 
enjoyment, and its superfluity is only misery in dis- 
guise. The princes of Germany do not digest all the 
palatable poison which their cooks prepare, so well 
as a peasant upon the heaths of Limbourg digests 
his buck-wheat pie. And those who may differ from 
me in this opinion will be forced to acknowledge, 
that there is great truth in the reply which a pretty 
French country girl made to a young and amiable 
nobleman, who solicited her to abandon her solitary 
rural situation, and retire with him to Paris. " Ah ! 
monsieur le marquis, the farther we remove from 
ourselves, the greater is our distance from happiness." 
A single passion, which we are neither able to 
subdue nor inclined to satisfy, frequently poisons 
our days with the bitterest sorrow *. There are mo- 

* " Wise men, " says Lord Bolingbroke, " are certainly 
superior to all the evils of exile : but, in a strict sense, he 
who has left any one passion of his soul unsubdued, will not 
deserve that appellation. It is not enough that we have 
studied all the duties of public and private life, that we are 
perfectly acquainted with them, and that we live up to them 
in the eye of the world ; a passion that lies dormant in the 
heart, and has escaped our scrutiny, or which we have ob- 
served and indulged as venal, or which we have perhaps 
encouraged as a principle to excite and aid our virtue, may 
one time or ether destroy our tranquillity, and disgrace our 
whole character. When virtue has steeled the mind on 
every side, we are invulnerable on every side, but Achilles 



268 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

ments in which the mind is discontented with itself, 
tired of its existence, disgusted with every thing, in- 
capable of relishing either Solitude or Dissipation, 
lost to all repose, and alienated from every pleasure. 
Under such a situation, time, although unemployed, 
appears horribly tedious ; an impenetrable chaos of 
sentiment and ideas prevails ; the present affords no 
enjoyment, and we wait with impatience for the fu- 
ture. The mind in reality, wants the true salt of 
life ,• and, without that, existence is insipid. 

But where is this precious salt to be found ? Is 
it in the passion of love ? Love, without doubt, fre- 
quently preserves life, and sometimes gives it new 
vigour and animation; but a passion which under- 
mines and consumes, can neither afford permanency 
nor tranquillity. The love capable of raising itself to 
the strength and power of being permanent, must 
descend into a sincere friendship, or it will destroy 
itself or its object ; and, by adding fuel to a subtle 
flame, will reduce the lover and beloved to a heap of 
cinders. The salt of life, therefore, can only be ex- 
tracted from passions which do not require extraneous 
aid; from passions which supply their own aliment, 
acquire force by indulgence, and, being free and 
independent, raise the soul superior to every thing 
that surrounds it. 

Solitude and limited desires afford a true happi- 

was wounded in the heel. The least part overlooked or ne- 
glected, may expose us to receive a mortal blow." 

Translator. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 269 

ness to the statesman, whether only dismissed from 
his office, or exiled from the state. Every great 
minister does not, indeed, retire from his employ- 
ments, like Neekar, through the portals of everlasting 
fame. But every one, without distinction, ought to 
raise his grateful hands to Heaven, on finding 
himself suddenly conveyed from the troubled ocean 
of public life to the calm repose of his native fields, 
to the pastoral care of his flocks and herds, under the 
shades of those trees which his ancestors planted. In 
France, the minister who incurs the displeasure of 
his sovereign is ordered to retire ; that is, to visit an 
estate highly embellished and made a most agreeable 
retreat. But alas ! this delightful retreat, being a 
place of exile, becomes intolerable; he no longer 
tastes its beauties with pleasure ; sleep flies from his 
eyes, since he is no longer his own master: the 
leisure he possesses renders him an impatient hypo- 
chondriac; he turns with aversion from every object; 
and his ill humour tinctures every thing he sees The 
disgrace of a minister in France is frequently fatal to 
his political existence *. But, in England, they con- 
gratulate the minister on his retirement, as they 
would a man just recovered from a dangerous distem- 
per. He retains many and better friends than before 

* " It is to this end," says one of our writers, " that dis_ 
grace of almost every kind conducts men. The credit, 
authority, and consideration, which they before enjoyed, are 
like those transient fires which shine during the night ; and, 
being suddenly extinguished, only render the darkness and 
solitude in which the traveller is involved more visible." 



270 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

he was dismissed; for those who accompany his 
retreat must be attached to him by sincere esteem ; 
but perhaps those who adhered to him in power were 
only influenced by interest. Thanks, generous 
Britons ! for the examples you have given to us of 
men sufficiently bold and independent to weigh events 
in the scales of reason, and to guide themselves by 
the intrinsic and real merit of each case ! For, 
notwithstanding the rashness with which many 
Englishmen have revolted against the Supreme Being, 
notwithstanding the laugh and mockery with which 
they have so frequently insulted virtue, good man- 
ners, and decorum, there are many more among 
them, who, especially at an advanced period of their 
lives, perfectly understand the art of living by them- 
selves; and, in their tranquil and delighted villas, 
think and live with more freedom, dignity, and real 
happiness, than any presumptuous peer in the zenith 
of parliamentary power. 

It is said, that among those ministers who receive 
the public thanks, or are forced by age to retire, 
more than half finish their career by becoming 
gardeners and country gentlemen. So much the 
better for these ex-ministers ; for they, like the 
excellent chancellor De la Roche at Spire, certainly 
possess much more content with the shovel and the 
rake, than they enjoyed in the most prosperous 
hours of their administration. 

Sentiments like these furnish an excellent theme 
to those who, ignorant of the manners of the world, 
and unacquainted with men, are fond of moralizing 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 9! \ 

and of extolling a contempt of human greatness. 
They contend that rural innocence and amusement* 
the pure and simple pleasures of nature, and the en- 
joyment of a calm content so arduously required, 
very seldom form any portion of those boasted advan- 
tages which Solitude is said to possess. They add 
also, that a minister in office, though surrounded by 
endless difficulties, subject to incessant torments, 
obliged to rack his brains, and to employ every art 
and cunning to attain his ends, begins by his success 
to feel that he has attained, what until this period he 
had never before possessed, the character of master 
and sovereign ; that he is then enabled to create and 
to destroy, to plant and to root up, to make altera- 
tions when and where he pleases ; that he may pull 
down a vineyard, and erect an English grove on its 
scite ; make hills where hills were never seen before ; 
level eminences with the ground, compel the stream 
to flow as his inclination shall direct ; force woods 
and shrubberies to grow where he pleases ; graft or 
lop as it shall strike his idea; open views and shut 
out boundaries; construct ruins where ruins never 
happened ; erect temples, of which he alone is high- 
priest, and build hermitages where he may seclude 
himself at pleasure ; that all this is not a reward for 
the restraints he formerly experienced, but a natural 
inclination, since now he may give orders without 
being himself obliged to obey; for that a minister 
must be, from the habits of his life, fond of command 
and sovereignty to the end of his days, whether he 
continues at the head of an extensive empire, or 
directs the management of a poultry-yard. 



272 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

To maintain that it is necessary to renounce the 
natural passions of the human mind, in order to 
enjoy the advantages of Solitude, would, without 
doubt, not only be moralizing very awkwardly, but 
discover a great ignorance of the world, and of the 
nature of man. That which is planted in the breast 
of man must there remain. If therefore a minister 
be not satiated with the exercise of power and 
authority, if in his retirement he still retain the weak- 
ness to wish for command, let him require obedience 
from his chickens, whenever he pleases, provided 
such a gratification is essential to his happiness, and 
tends to suppress the desire of again exposing him- 
self to those tempests and shipwrecks which he can 
only avoid in the safe harbour of rural life.* An 
ex-minister must sooner or later learn to despise the 
appearances of human grandeur; for in his retirement 
he will perceive that true greatness frequently begins 
at that period of life which statesmen are apt to con- 
sider as a dreary void ; he will discover that the re- 
gret of being no longer able to do more good, is only 
ambition in disguise ; and feel that the inhabitants of 
the country, in cultivating their cabbages and as- 
paragus, are a hundred times happier than the 
greatest minister. 

Under such circumstances it is only necessary to 

* " Marshal de Boufflers has retired to cultivate his 
fields/' said Madame Maintenon : " I am of opinion that 
this Cincinnatus would not be sorry to be fetched from hi* 
plough. At his departure he charged us all to think of him, 
if any thing was wanted during his absence, which may 
perhaps continue fifteen days." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 2/3 

be contented with ourselves, to forget the superflui- 
ties of life, and to render the little we possess as 
palatable as possible. The first year which Pe- 
trarch passed at Vaucluse, he was almost always 
alone, and had no other company than his dog, no 
other servant than a neighbouring fisherman, who 
served him with every thing he wanted- The do- 
mestics who attended him at Avignon, not being able 
to accustom themselves to this manner of living, 
quitted his service. Beside, he was badly lodged, 
having only a poor cottage for his residence, which 
he afterwards rebuilt without any art, merely to 
render it tenantable, and even the traces of which no 
longer remain. His fare was coarse and frugal ; no- 
thing that flatters the senses was to be seen. His 
best friends therefore called upon him very seldom, 
and when they came their visits were very short; 
others only visited him from the same charitable 
feelings which lead men to the chamber of the sick, 
or the dungeon of the prisoner. He wrote to his 
friend Philip de Carrabold, bishop of Cavaillon, who 
was then at Naples, " Let others run after riches 
and honours ; let them be princes and kings ; I shall 
never attempt to impede their career. I am con- 
tented with the humble character of poet. And why, 
my good bishop, will you continually wander from 
place to place merely to discover the road to prefer- 
ment ? You know the snares which are laid in the 
courts of princes, the anxieties which corrode the 
heart, the risks which are run, and the storms to 
which life is there exposed. Return therefore to 

N 3 



274 Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

your diocese, return to tranquillity and repose. You 
may do this with honour, while fortune smiles upon 
you. You will there find every thing- you can desire ♦ 
Leave superfluity to the avaricious. The rooms, 
although not decorated with tapestry, are commo- 
diously furnished. If our table be not sumptuous, 
yet we have enough to satisfy hunger ; and although 
our beds are not decorated with gold and purple, we 
do not sleep in them with less comfort. The hour 
of death approaches, and warns me to renounce all 
the extravagant vanities of life. To cultivate my 
gardens is now the only pleasure I pursue. I plant 
fruit-trees, in hope that while I am fishing on my 
rocks, they will cover me with their shade. But 
my trees are old, and require to be replaced ; I must 
therefore request that you will desire your attendants 
to bring me some plants of the peach and pear-tree 
from Naples. The enjoyments of my old age are 
purchased by labour ; and I live in the expectation 
of future pleasures, which I intend to participate 
with you alone : this is what the hermit on the banks 
of the Sergue writes to you from the middle of the 
forest." 

Solitude, however, will not procure us all these 
advantages, unless we renounce the mania of refining 
upon happiness. By endeavouring to make things 
better than they are, we abandon those that are 
good. He who always views things on the unfavour- 
able side, who wishes that all those things which are 
wrong, and which ought to remain wrong, were 
marie right, voluntarily surrenders a large portion of 



^immerMann on solitude. 275 

his pleasures ; /for without so great a number of 
Wrongheads in the world, life would not be half so 
entertaining as it is./ r %% & ^#^#0* 

To live happily, it is an excellent maxim to take 
things just as they are; or to admit with a celebrated 
German philosopher, as the foundation of all mora- 
lity, that it is our duty to do as much good as pos- 
sible, and to be contented with every thing as we 
find it. This species of morality is certainly founded 
in toleration and good-nature ; but it is apt to dege- 
nerate too easily into a looser kind of philosophy,* 
destructive in some minds both of freedom and vir- 
tue. It is true, however, that there is no character 
in the world so unhappy as he who is continually 
finding fault with every thing he sees. 

My barber at Hanover, while he was preparing to 
shave me, exclaimed with a deep sigh, " It is terribly 
hot to-day.''— " You place Heaven," said I to him, 
" in great difficulties : for these nine months past 
you have regularly told me every other day " It is' 
terribly cold to-day." Cannot the Almighty, then, 
any longer govern the Universe without these gentle- 
men barbers finding something to be discontented 
with ? u Is it not," I asked him, " much better to 
take the seasons as they change, and to receive with 

* u Let the world go as it pleases," says an ingenious 
writer ; " to do one's duty tolerably well, and speak always 
in praise of the good prior, is an ancient maxim of the 
monks : but it may lead the discipline of convents into a 
state of mediocrity, relaxation, and contempt." 



276 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

equal gratitude from the hands of God the winter's 
cold and summer's warmth?"—" Oh ! certainly," re- 
plied the barber. 

Competency and content therefore may, in gene- 
ral, be considered as the basis of earthly happiness ; 
and Solitude, in many instances, favours both the 
one and the other. 

One of the advantages we still owe to Solitude is, 
that it enables us by habit to relinquish the society 
of men. For, as it is impossible always to procure 
agreeable and interesting company, we soon lose the 
desire to attain it, and console ourselves with the 
idea that it is incomparably more easy to drive away 
languor and discontent in retirement than in the 
world ; beside, as it very rarely happens that on quit- 
ting a public assembly we enter with great good hu- 
mour into the examination of ourselves, this ought 
to be still another reason to induce us the more 
easily to renounce it. The less, therefore, we form 
connections with other men, the more we are qualified 
for an intercourse with ourselves. 

It is frequently difficult to find an amiable and 
sensible character with whom we may form connec- 
tion, and to whom we can freely communicate our 
thoughts, our pleasures, and our pains. In this case 
nothing but employment and activity can divert our 
minds. The idle and unemployed, not being able to 
drive away lassitude and discontent by yawning, ex- 
pect that relief from the coming on of time which 
the industrious enjoy every moment of their lives. 
The coldness of indolence freezes all the functions of 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 27? 

the heart, and the dread of labour poisons every 
pleasure; but the man who seriously adopts some 
useful course of life, who immediately executes what- 
ever his station calls upon him to perform, always 
enjoys a contented mind. To him the day appears 
too short, the night too long-. Vexation and disquie- 
tude vanish from the breast of him, who never leaves 
for the performance of to-morrow that which may be 
done to-day, who makes himself master of the pre- 
sent moment, and does not indiscreetly rely upon an 
uncertain futurity. 

A situation in a small village, or a country retire- 
ment, is best suited to this species of employment. 
The great world is a scene of agitation from morn- 
ing to night ; although, strictly speaking, nothing is 
done during the day. In a small village, or more 
sequestered situation, the mind has time to think j we 
view every object with more interest, and discharge 
every duty with higher pleasure. We do not read as 
the world reads, merely to say that we have read, but 
to enjoy and benefit by the information which read- 
ing affords. Every thing we read in silence, in 
tranquillity, sinks deep into the mind, unites itself 
more closely with our thoughts, and operates more 
forcibly on the heart. A judicious use of time, in 
such a situation, soon lessens our inclination to 
society, and, at length, we esteem ourselves com- 
pletely happy in finding it totally extinguished. 

The silence of the country therefore is, to the 
female mind, frequently the school of true philo- 
sophy. In England, where the face of nature is so 



278 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

beautiful, and where the inhabitants are hourly 
adding new embellishments to her charms, rural life 
possesses in itself inexpressible delights : but among 
that active people, the love of Solitude is, perhaps, 
in general much stronger in the women than the men. 
A nobleman who employs the day in riding over his 
estate, or in following the hounds, does not enjoy 
the Solitude of rural life with the same pleasure as 
his lady, who devotes her time to needle-work or to 
reading, in her romantic pleasure-grounds, some 
instructive or affecting work. In England, where 
ideas flow so rapidly, where in general the people 
love so much to think, the calm of retirement be- 
comes more valuable, and the enjoyments of the 
mind more interesting. Learning, which has so con- 
siderably increased among the ladies of Germany, 
certainly owes its origin to rural life; for among those 
who pass their time in rural- retirement, and im- 
prove their minds by reading, we find in general 
much more true wit and sentiment than among the 
beaux esprits of the metropolis. 

How would those who occasionally reside in the 
country abridge the time of their residence in town, 
if they weighed and felt the advantages of a rural 
situation ! The frivolous enjoyments of the metropo- 
lis would then vex and disgust their minds 5 they 
would soon be discontented to see men employ time 
with so little improvement to themselves ; running 
incessantly after every thing that is strange, devot- 
ing their whole lives to dress, to gaming, and to 
visits, without ever resigning themselves to those 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 279 

sublime reflections which elevate and ennoble the 
heart. Possessed of goodness, liberality, and sim- 
plicity, a country life, after having lived in town, 
affords so many opportunities of being happy, that 
it is impossible to be languid or discontented, pro- 
vided we are neither negligent, idle, sick, nor in love. 
How sweet, how consoling it is, in the tranquil- 
lity of retirement, to call to remembrance our absent 
friends ! Ah, this remembrance alone makes us taste 
again in Solitude all the pleasures we have enjoyed 
in their society.—-" You are far removed, but I am 
notwithstanding always near to you. There is the place 
where you used to sit. I have the identical chair still 
by me. You gave me that picture ; that charming tran- 
quil landscape. With what soft effusion, with what a 
natural overflow of feeling and sentiment we enjoyed 
the view of that engraving, representing lively images 
of a happy tranquillity ! Is it possible to be unhappy 
when we never live with higher joy, with more re. 
fined delight, than when we are only one day's 
journey from each other !" — By the aid of these light 
artifices of imagination, these flattering illusions, 
which Solitude suggests, two men may live in con- 
tinual intercourse with each other, even when se- 
parated by oceans ; when they no longer listen to the 
voice or distinguish the approaching steps of the 
object they respectively love. 

Friends, whom destiny has separated from each 
other, do not any where feel their sentiments so noble 
and refined as in those places where nothing inter- 
rupts this soft intercourse, and where the pleasures 



280 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of the world cannot interpose between their sympa- 
thising hearts. Mutual ill-humour, those mortifica_ 
tions which a commerce with the world daily inflicts, 
and a number of little incidents, may sometimes 
lessen the delight which the company of the dearest 
friend would otherwise afford. In these subacid 
moments, the mind, influenced by the feelings of the 
heart, never recurs to those soft intercourses which 
once prevailed. The friend who until this moment 
engaged my love, now repels it by ill-humour : but 
how many agreeable sentiments, how many delightful 
pleasures would be lost, were I to forget the past in 
the present, and to return his peevishness with ill- 
humour ! Vexations will occasionally render the 
mildest temper petulant, and obscure for a moment 
the brightness in which my friend is accustomed to 
appear before me, whose presence always raised such 
delightful sensations in my heart, diffused felicity 
and pleasure over my life, charmed every vexation 
from my breast, banished my ill-humour, and who, 
until the present moment, has ever concealed his ill- 
humour from my view. This conduct is thought by 
some to be the privilege of intimacy. But friends 
ought not to w T reak their discontents on each other ; 
friends, who have heretofore shared together in all 
the misfortunes of life, who have mutually suffered 
for, and endeavoured to relieve the feelings of each 
other's breast. Friendship demands sincerity : but 
she also, in common benevolence, demands a mutual 
indulgence and accommodation; and requires that 
mildness should be opposed to anger, and patience to 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 281 

ill-humour. This, however, can never happen where, 
crossed by the embarrassments of life, each indulges 
the peevish asperities of his temper ; and, forgetting 
every attention and civility himself, complains that 
they are not observed to him. How quickly do all 
these inconveniences disappear in Solitude ! Solitude 
sanctifies the memory of those we love, and cancels 
all recollection but that which contributes to the 
enjoyments of friendship ? Constancy, security, con- 
fidence, there appear again in all their brightness, 
and re- assume their empire in the heart- Every 
pulse of the soul beats in perfect harmony: I listen 
with pleasure to my friend ; he attends to me in 
return: although distant he is always near to me. 
I communicate to him all my thoughts, and all my 
sensations. I preserve, as sacred to our friendship, 
all the flowers that he strews over the thorny path of 
my life ; and all those which I perceive I gather for 
him. 

Solitude not only refines the enjoyments of friend- 
ship, but places us in a situation to gain friends, 
whom neither time nor accident can take away, 
from whom nothing can alienate our souls, and to 
whose arms we never fly in vain. 

The friends of Petrarch sometimes wrote apologies 
to him for their absence. " It is impossible to live 
with you/' say they; " the life which you lead at 
Vaucluse is repugnant to human nature. In winter 
you sit, like an owl, with your face over the fire ; in 
the summer you are incessantly running about the 
fields : seldom do we find you seated under the shade 



282 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of a tree.'' — Petrarch smiled at these representations : 
€i These people," said he, " consider the pleasures 
of the world as their supreme good, and not to be 
renounced. But I have friends of a different de- 
scription, whose society is extremely agreeable to 
me. They are of all countries, and of all ages ; they 
are distinguished in war, in politics, and in the 
sciences. It is very easy to see them; they are 
always at my service : I call for their company, and 
send them away whenever I please ; they are never 
troublesome, and immediately answer all my ques- 
tions. Some relate to me the events of ages past j 
others reveal the secrets of nature : these teach me 
how to live with happiness ; and those how to die in 
quiet : these drive away every care by the enjoyment 
they afford me, and increase my gaiety by the liveli- 
ness of their wit ; while others harden my heart against 
sufferings, teach me to restrain my desires, and en- 
able me to depend only on myself. In one word, 
they open to me an avenue to all the arts, to all 
the sciences, and upon their information I safely 
rely. In return for these great services, they only 
require of me a chamber in one corner of my 
small mansion, where they may repose in peace. In 
short, I carry them with me into the fields, with the 
tranquillity of which they are much better pleased 
than the tumults of the town." 

Love ! the most precious gift of Heaven, that 
happy sensibility from which arises every emotion 
of the heart, appears to merit a distinguished rank 
among the advantages of Solitude, provided we 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 283 

manage this powerful passion so as to render it 
auxiliary to happiness. 

Love associates itself willingly with the aspect of 
beautiful nature. The view of a pleasing prospect 
inspires the heart with the tenderest emotions. The 
lonely mountain, the silent grove, and the stillness 
of a fine evening, increase the susceptibility of the 
female bosom, inspire the mind with rapturous en- 
thusiasm, and r like all warm and violent emotions, 
sooner or later draw aside and subjugate the heart. 

Women most certainly feel the pure and tran- 
quil pleasures of rural life with more exquisite sen- 
sibility than men. They enjoy, in a much higher 
degree, the beauties of a lonely walk, the freshness 
of a shady forest, and admire with higher ecstasy the 
charms and grandeur of nature. Minds apparently 
insensible in the atmosphere of a metropolis open 
themselves with rapture in the country. This is the 
reason why the return of spring fills every tender 
breast with love. u What can more resemble love," 
said a celebrated German philosopher, " than the 
feeling with which my soul is inspired at the sight of 
this magnificent valley thus illumined by the setting 
sun I" 

Rousseau felt an inexpressible pleasure on view- 
ing the early blossoms of the spring : the arrival of 
that gay season gave new life to his mind : increased 
the tender inclinations of his soul ; and assimilated 
the charms of his mistress with the beauties that 
surrounded him. The sorrows of his heart were 
lightened by the view of an extensive and pleasing 



284 ZiMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

prospect; and he sighed with pleasure among the 
flowers of a garden, or the fruits of the orchard. 

Lovers seek retirement to indulge in uninter- 
rupted quietude the contemplation of that object for 
whom alone they live. Of what importance to them 
are all the transactions of cities, or any thing indeed 
that does not tend to indulge their passion ? Obscure 
chambers, black forests of firs, or lonely lakes, are 
the only confidants of their souls. Forests filled 
with gloomy shades, and echoing to the tremendous 
eagle's cry, are the same to their minds as the live- 
liest champaign country. A lovely shepherdess of- 
fering her fostering bosom to the infant she is nurs- 
ing, while at her side her well-beloved partner sits, 
dividing with her his morsel of hard black bread, is 
a hundred times more happy than all the fops of the 
town. Love inspires the mind in the highest degree 
with all that is elevated, pleasant, and affecting in 
nature, and warms the coldest bosoms with sensibility 
and rapture. 

Love's softest images spring up anew in Solitude. 
The remembrance of those emotions which the first 
blush of conscious tenderness, the first gentle pres- 
sure of the hand, the first dread of interruption, 
create, are there indelible ! Time, it is said, extin- 
guishes the flame of love ; but Solitude renews the 
fire, and calls forth those agents which lie long con- 
cealed, and only wait a proper moment to display 
their power. The whole course of youthful feeling 
again beams forth; and the mind — delicious recol- 
lection ! — fondly retracing the first affection of the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 285 

heart, fills the bosom with an indelible sense of those 
high ecstasies, which a connoisseur has said, with as 
much truth as energy, proclaim, for the first tim e 
that happy discovery, that fortunate moment, when 
two lovers first perceive their mutual fondness. * 

A mind fond of reflecting in retirement on the 
passion of love, and which has experienced its plea- 
sures, feels again, in these ever-recurring thoughts, 
the most delicious enjoyments. Herder says, he 
doe3 not know who the people in Asia were, whose 
mythology thus divided the epochs of the most re- 
mote antiquity : — u That men, once more become 
celestial spirits, were immediately beloved during a 
thousand years, first by looks, then by a kiss, after- 
wards by alliance." 

Wieland, during the warmest moments of his 
youth, sublimely enjoyed this noble passion for a 
lady of Zurich, handsome, amiable, and sensible : 
for that great genius well knew that love, mysterious 
love ! begins in the first sigh, and expires, in a cer- 
tain degree, with the first kiss. T one day asked this 
young lady, when Wieland had kissed her for the first 
time? " Wieland," replied the lovely girl, "kissed 
my hand, for the first time, four years after our ac- 
quaintance commenced." 

* No person has described the recollection of that pre- 
cious moment with so much harmony, sweetness, tender- 
ness, and sentiment, as Rousseau. " Precious moments, so 
much regretted ! Oh, begin again your delightful course ; 
flow on with longer duration in my remembrance, if it be 
possible, than you did in reality in your fugitive succes- 
sion." 



286 Z4MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Young persons, in general, however, do not, like 
Wieland, adopt the mystic refinements of love. Lis- 
tening to those sentiments which the passions inspire, 
less familiar with their abstractions, and their minds 
unoccupied by other ideas, they feel at an earlier 
age, in the tranquillity of Solitude, that irresistible 
impulse to the union of the sexes, which nature has 
implanted in the breast. 

A lady who lived upon the banks of the Lake of 
Geneva, solitary and separated from all connection 
with the world, had three daughters, brunes piquan- 
tes, as beautiful in their persons as they were amia- 
ble in their manners. When the eldest was about 
fourteen years of age, and the youngest about nine, 
they were presented with a tame bird, which hopped 
and flew about the chamber the whole day, and 
formed the sole amusement and pleasure of their 
lives. Placing themselves on their knees, they of- 
fered with unwearied delight their lovely little fa- 
vourite a piece of biscuit from their fingers, in order 
to lure him to their bosoms ; but the bird, the mo- 
ment he had gotten the biscuit, with cunning coy- 
ness disappointed their expectations, and hopped 
away. The bird, however, soon died. A year after 
this event, the youngest of the three sisters said to 
her mother, ' ' Oh the dear little bird, mamma ! if we 
could but procure such another !" " No," replied her 
eldest sister, " what I should l'ke better than any 
thing else in the world is a little dog. I could catch 
a little dog, take him upon my knee, and hug him in 
my arms : but a bird is good for nothing ; he perches 
a little while on your finger, flies away, and there is 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITDE. 287 

no catching him again. But a little dog, Oh how 
charming !" 

I shall never forget the poor religieuse in whose 
apartment I found a breeding-cage of canary-birds ; 
or forgive myself for having burst into a fit of laugh- 
ter at the sight of this aviary. Alas ! it was the sug- 
gestion of nature ; and who can resist what nature 
suggests ? This mystic wandering of religious minds, 
this celestial epilepsy of love, this premature fruit 
of Solitude, is only the fond application of one na- 
tural inclination raised superior to all the others. 

Absence and tranquillity appear so favourable to 
the passion of love, that lovers frequently chuse to 
quit the beloved object, and to reflect in Solitude on 
her charms. Who does not recollect to have read, 
in the Confessions of Rousseau, the story related by 
Madame de Luxemberg, of the man who quitted the 
company of his mistress only that he might have the 
pleasure of writing to her ! Rousseau told Madame 
Luxemberg, that he wished he had been that man ; 
and he was right : for who has ever loved, and does 
not know, that there are times when the pen expres- 
ses the feelings of the heart infinitely better than 
the voice with its miserable organ of speech ? The 
tongue has no eloquence, it expresses nothing; but 
when lovers in silent ecstasy gaze on each other, 
where is greater eloquence to be found ? 

Lovers not only feel with higher ecstasy, but ex- 
press their sentiments with greater happiness, in So- 
litude, than in any other situation. What fashionable 
lover has ever painted his passion for an imperious 



288 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

mistress with the same felicity, as the chorister of a 
village in Hanover for a young and beautiful country 
girl ? On her death, the chorister raised, in the ce- 
metery of the cathedral, a sepulchral stone to her 
memory; and carving, in an artless manner, the 
figure of a Rose on its front, inscribed these words 
underneath : " C'est ainsi qu'elle fut ." 

Under the rocks of Vaucluse, or in retirements 
still more solitary, Petrarch composed his finest 
sonnets ; deploring the absence, or complaining of 
the cruelty of his beloved Laura. Upon the subject 
of love he is, in the opinion of the Italians, superior 
to every other poet in the world, before or since his 
time, whether in the Greek, Latin, or Tuscan lan- 
guages. " Ah ! that pure and tender language of the 
heart !" say they ; " nobody possessed any know- 
ledge of it but Petrarch, who added to the three 
Graces a fourth — the Grace of Delicacy. " 

Love, however, in the ardency of a youthful ima- 
gination, and assisted by the inspiration of a lonely 
and romantic place, frequently assumes a more 
outre and extravagant character ; and when blended 
with religious enthusiasm, and a melancholy dispo- 
sition, makes a whimsical compound of the feelings 
of the heart. A lover of this description, when he 
is inclined to be serious, takes from the text of the 
Apocalypse his first declaration of love ; and ex- 
claims, that it is but an eternal melancholy; but 
when he is inclined to sharpen the dart within his 
breast, his inspired mind views the beloved object as 
the fairest model of divine perfection. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 289 

Two lovers of this divine angelic cast, placed in 
some ancient, solitary, romantic castle, soar far be- 
yond the common tribe; and their passion grows 
sublime in proportion to the refinement of their 
ideas. The beloved youth, surrounded by stupend- 
ous rocks, and impressed by the awful stillness of the 
scene, possesses not only the moral qualities of hu- 
manity in their highest degree, but raises his mind 
to the celestial attributes of God.* The inspired 
mind of the fond female fancies her bosom to be the 
sanctuary of love, and conceives her affection for the 
youthful idol of her heart to be an emanation from 
heaven ; a ray of the Divinity itself. Ordinary lovers, 
without doubt, in spite of absence, unite their souls, 
write by every post, seize all occasions to converse 
with or to hear from each other, but our more sub- 
lime and exalted female introduces into the romance 
of passion every butterfly she meets with, and all the 
feathered songsters of the groves ; and except in the 
object of her love, no longer sees any thing as it 
really is. Reason and sense no longer guide ; the 
refinement of love directs all her movements ; she 
tears the world from its poles, and the sun from its 
axis ; establishes a new gospel ; adopts a new system 

* " When the passion of love is at its height," says 
Rousseau, " it arrays the beloved object in every possible 
perfection ; makes it an idol, places it in heaven j and as the 
enthusiasm of devotion borrows the language of love, the 
enthusiasm of love also borrows the language of devotion* 
The lover beholds nothing but paradise, angels, the virtues 
of saints and the felicities of heaven." 

o 



290 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

of morality for herself and her lover ; and is con- 
vinced that every thing she does is right. 

These effects of Love cannot be avoided by any 
of the advantages of Solitude. 

Love, even of the most tranquil kind, that species 
which lies silent in the breast, which does not raise 
the chimeras in the mind, which does not resign 
himself to the delirium of an ardent imagination, 
and which is not carried into these excesses, in time 
consumes the lover, and renders him miserable. 

The 3 over's mind occupied by the idea of one 
object, whom he adores beyond all others, all the 
faculties of the soul become absorbed, and when he 
finds himself separated for ever from the lovely 
object, who has made even the highest sacrifice to 
him in her power; who administered consolation 
under all his afflictions, afforded happiness under the 
greatest calamities, and supported him when all the 
powers of his soul were fled ; who continued a sin- 
cere friend when every other friend had left him, 
when oppressed by domestic sorrows, when ren- 
dered incapable of either thought or action ; he aban- 
dons a world which for him no longer possesses any 
charms, and to languish in a slothful Solitude be- 
comes his only pleasure. The night is passed in 
sleepless agonies; while a disgust of life, a desire of 
death, an abhorrence of all society, and a love of the 
most frightful deserts, drive him day after day, wan- 
dering, as chance may direct, through the most soli- 
tary retirements, far from the hateful traces of man- 
kind. Were he, however, to wander from the Elbe 







j?JBiocL?s sc.. 



SOLITUDE. 



. 



LOHDOI; 
rriblisbe&'by T.GriffLths. 2!Waxwk"k C^TioTborru 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 20,1 

to the Lake of Geneva ; to seek relief from the north 
to the west, even to the shores of the sea, he would 
still be like the hind described in Virgil, 

" Stung with the stroke, and madding with the pain, 
She wildly flies from wood to wood in vain ; 
Shoots o'er the Cretan lawns with many a bound, 

The cleaving dart still rankling in the wound !" 

Virgil, Book iv, line 110. 

Petrarch experienced the accumulated torments 
of love in his new residence at Vaucluse. Scarcely 
had he arrived there, when the image of Laura in- 
cessantly haunted his mind. He beheld her at all 
times, in every place, under a thousand different 
forms. " Three times," says he, " in the dead of 
night, when every door was closed, she appeared to 
me at the feet of my bed with a certain look which 
announced the power of her charms. Fear spread a 
chilling dew over all my limbs. My blood thrilled 
through my veins towards my heart. If any one had 
then entered my room with a candle, they would 
have beheld me as pale as death, with every mark of 
terror on my face. Before day-break I rose trem- 
bling from my bed, and hastily leaving my house, 
where every thing excited alarm, I climbed to the 
summit of the rocks, ran through the woods, casting 
my eyes continually around to see if the form that 
had disturbed my repose still pursued me. I could 
find no asylum : in the most sequestered places, 
where I flattered myself that I should be alone, I 
frequently saw her issuing from the trunk of a tree, 



292 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

from the head of a clear spring, from the cavity of a 
rock. Fear rendered me insensible, and I neither 
knew what I did nor where I went." 

To an imagination subject to such violent con- 
vulsions, Solitude affords no remedy. Ovid, there- 
fore, has very justly said, 

" But Solitude must never be allow'd ; 

A lover's ne'er so safe as in a crowd ; 

For private places private griefs increase ; 

What haunts you there in company will cease ; 

If to the gloomy desert you repair, 

Your mistress' angry form will meet you there." 

Ovid's Remedy of Love. 

Petrarch learned, from the first emotions of his 
passion, how useless are all attempts to flee from 
love ; and he sought the rocks and forests in vain. 
There is no place, however savage and forlorn, where 
love will not force its way. The pure and limpid 
stream of Vaucluse, the shady woods adorning the 
little valley in which the stream arose, appeared to 
him the only places to abate the fierceness of those 
fires which consumed his heart. The most frightful 
deserts, the deepest forests, mountains almost inac- 
cessible, were to him the most agreeable abodes. 
But Love pursued his steps wherever he went, and 
left him no place of refuge. His whole soul flew 
back to Avignon. 

Solitude also affords no remedy for Love when it 
is injurious to virtue. To an honest mind the pre- 
sence of the beloved object is never dangerous, 
although the passion may have taken a criminal turn 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 2y3 

In the heart. On the contrary, while absence and 
Solitude foment all the secret movements of the 
senses and the imagination, the sight of the beloved 
object destroys, in a virtuous breast, every forbidden 
desire ; for in absence the lover thinks himself secure, 
and consequently indulges his imagination without 
restraint. Solitude, more than any other situation, 
recalls to the mind every voluptuous idea, every thing 
that animates desire and inflames the heart : no 
danger being apprehended, the lover walks boldly on 
in the flattering paths of an agreeable illusion, until 
the passion acquires a dangerous empire in his 
breast. 

The heart of Petrarch was frequently stimulated 
by ideas of voluptuous pleasure, even among the 
rocks of Vaucluse, where he sought an asylum from 
Love and Laura.* But he soon banished sensuality 

* We read in a variety of books now no longer known, 
that Petrarch lived at Vaucluse with Laura, and that he had 
formed a subterraneous passage from her house to his own. 
Petrarch was not so happy. Laura was married, and 
lived with her husband, Hugues de Sades, at Avignon, the 
place of her nativity, and where she died. She was the mother 
of eleven children, which had so debilitated her constitution, 
that at nve-and-thirty years of age no traces of her former 
beauty remained. She experienced also many domestic 
sorrows. Her husband was ignorant of the value of her 
virtues, and the propriety of her conduct. He was jealous 
without cause, and even without love, which to a woman 
was still more mortifying. Petrarch, on the contrary, loved 
Laura during the course of twenty years ; but he was never 



294 ZIMMEIiMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

from his mind : the passion of his soul then became 
refined, and acquired that vivacity and heavenly 
purity, which breathe in every line of those immortal 
lyrics he composed upon the rocks. The city of Avig- 
non, where his Laura resided, was, however, too near 
to him, and he visited it too frequently. A love like 
his never leaves the heart one moment of tranquillity 
it is a fever of the soul, which afflicts the body with 
a complication of the most painful disorders. Let a 
lover, therefore, while his mind is yet able to controul 
the emotions of his heart, seat himself on the banks 
of a rivulet, and think that his passion, like the stream 
which now precipitates itself with noise down the 
rocks, may, in peaceful shades and solitary bowers, 
flow across the meadows and the plains in silence and 
tranquillity. 

Love unites itself to tranquillity, when the mind 
submits with humility to all the dispensations of Hea- 
ven. If, when death bereaves a lover of the object 

suffered to visit her at her own house ; for her husband 
seldom, if ever, left her alone. He therefore had no oppor- 
tunity of beholding his charming, his amiable Laura, except 
at church, at assemblies, or in the public walks, and then 
never alone. Her husband frequently forbad her to walk 
even with her dearest friends, and his mind was rendered 
furious whenever she indulged in the slightest pleasure. 
Laura was born in the year 1307 or 1308 , and was two or 
three years younger than Petrarch. She died of the plague 
in the year 1348. Seven years after her death her husband 
married again. Petrarch survived her till about the com- 
mencement of the year 1374. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 2Qo 

of his affection, he be unable to live, except in those 
places where she was used to dwell, and all the world 
beside looks desert and forlorn, death alone can stop 
the torrent of his tears. But it is not by yielding, 
himself to the pressure of his affliction, that he can 
be said to devote himself to God. The lover, when 
oppressed by sorrow, constantly attaches himself to 
the object which is no more, and never can return. 
He seeks for what he can never find; he listens, 
but hears nothing ,• he fancies that he beholds the 
lovely form alive and breathing, when it is only a 
phantom, produced in mental vision by his heated 
imagination. He gathers roses from the tomb of 
her on whom all the happiness of his life depended ; 
he waters them with his tears, cultivates them with 
the tenderest care, places them in his bosom, kisses 
them with rapture, and enjoys their soothing fra- 
grance with melancholy transport; but these plea- 
sures also vanish ; the roses droop their heads, and 
die. It is not until the lover has long wrestled with 
the rigours of fate, until the arms have long been in 
vain extended to embrace the beloved object, until 
the eye has long fixed its view upon the cherished 
shade, until all hope of re-union is gone, that the 
mind begins gradually to feel its returning powers, 
assumes an heroic courage against misfortune, and, 
by endeavouring to conquer the weakness of the 
heart, feels the return of its former tranquillity. 
These cures, however, can only be effected in vigorous 
minds, which alone crown whatever they undertake 
with success ; vigorous minds alone find in Solitude 



2Q6 zimmermann on solitude. 

that peace, which the whole universe, with all its 
pleasures and dissipations, cannot procure. 

The victory which the virtuous Petrarch acquired 
over the passion which assailed his heart, must afford 
pleasure to every mind. When he sought refuge in 
Italy from Love and Laura, his friends in France 
used every endeavour to induce him to return. One 
of them wrote to him : " What demon possesses you - ? 
How could you quit a country, where you enjoyed all 
the delights of youth, and where that graceful person, 
which you formerly adorned with so much care pro- 
cured you so many pleasures? How can you live 
thus exiled from Laura, whom you love with so much 
tenderness, and whose heart, is so deeply afflicted by 
your absence I" 

Petrarch replied : " Your anxiety is vaia ; I am 
resolved to continue where I am. I am here at 
anchor ; and neither the impetuosity of the Rhone, 
nor the powers of eloquence, shall ever drive me 
from it. To persuade me to change this resolution, 
you place before my eyes the deviations of my youth, 
which I ought to forget ; a passion which left me no 
other resource than a precipitate flight, and the con- 
temptible merit of a handsome person, which too long 
occupied my attenion. The period is arrived when 
I must no longer think of those follies; I have left 
them behind me ; and I rapidly approach to the end 
of my career- My mind is now occupied by more 
serious and important objects. God forbid, that, 
listening to your flattering counsel, T should again 
throw myself into the snares of Love ; again put on 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 20f 

a yoke I have already so severely felt ; it was con- 
sistent with the age of youth, but I should now blush 
to be a subject of conversation to the world, and to 
see myself pointed at as I walk along". I consider 
all your solicitations, and, indeed, all you tell me, 
as a severe censure upon my conduct. My love of 
Solitude takes root in this place ;* I fly from town, 
and stroll at random about the fields, without care, 
without inquietude. In summer I stretch myself 
beneath the shade upon the verdant turf, or saunter 
on the borders of a purling stream, and defy the heats 
of Italy. On the approach of Autumn I seek the woods 

* Lord Bolingbroke, after having experienced all the 
pleasures and pains of ambition, retired, on his return from 
exile, into rural Solitude at Lord Tankerville's seat at Daw- 
ley. In communicating the extreme happiness he felt in 
the pursuit of moral tranquillity, he thus expresses himself 
in the exultation of his heart: " I am in my own farm, 
and here I shoot strong and tenacious roots ; I have caught 
hold of the earth, to use a gardener's phrase, and neither 
my enemies nor my friends will find it an easy matter to 
transplant me again." But his lordship, like Petrarch, mis- 
took his passion for Solitude, and supposed that to be the 
fruit of philosophy, which was only the effect of spleen. He 
soon quitted this delightful abode, and once more entered 
into the bustle of public business ; but he had occasion to 
lament this conduct : He again retired, at the age of sixty, 
to France, far from the noise and hurry of party ; for he 
found that his seat at Dawley was too near the theatre of his 
ambition, to permit him to devote the rest of his life to 
study and retirement. — Translator, 

o 3 



2 98 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and job the Muses' train. This mode of life appears 
to me preferable to a life at court; a life occupied 
only by ambition and envy. I walk with pleasure on 
the plains of Italy ; I feel the climate to be serene and 
pure. When death terminates my labours, I only 
risk the consolation of reposing my head upon the 
bosom of a friend, whose eyes, while he closes mine, 
will deplore my loss, and whose kind care will convey 
me to a tomb in the bosom of my country ." 

These were the sentiments, the philosophic senti- 
ments of Petrarch ; but he returned soon afterwards 
to Avignon. 

Petrarch himself acknowledges, with a frankness 
natural to his character, that his unsettled soul 
wavered between Love and Reason. He wrote from 
Vaucluse to his friend Pastrengo, 6C Perceiving that 
there is no other way to effect my cure than to aban- 
don Avignon, I have determined to leave it, not- 
withstanding all the efforts of my friends to detain 
me. Alas ! their friendship only tends to render me 
unhappy ! I sought this Solitude as an asylum against 
the tempests of life, and to live a little while retired 
and alone before I die. I already perceive that I am 
near my end ; but I feel with infinite pleasure that 
my mind is free; and I here enjoy the life of the 
blessed in heaven. Observe, however, the prevalence 
of habit, and the force of passion; for without having 
any business, I frequently return to that hateful 
city. I run voluntarily into the same snares by 
which I was first caught. An adverse wind drives 
me from the port which I have entered, upon that 



ZIMMEHMANN ON SOLITUDE. 29$ 

troubled ocean where I have so frequently been 
shipwrecked. I am no sooner there than I feel 
myself tossed by the tempest ; the heavens seem on 
fire, the sea rages, and dangers attack me on every 
side. I perceive the period of my days : but alas ! 
though I turn from life with aversion, yet, worse 
than death, I dread that which is to come/' 

Pastrengo replied like a friend who knew not only 
what Petrarch practised, but the kind of sentiments 
which would make him feel that which he was de- 
lighted to perform : " It is with pleasure I learn," 
says he, " that you have burst open the doors of your 
prison, shaken off your chains and set yourself free ; 
that after a violent tempest you have at last reached 
the port you wished to gain, and ride safe in the 
harbour of a quiet life. I can at this distance 
discover every thing you do, day after day, in your 
retreat at Vaucluse. At the earliest dawn of day, 
awakened by the warblers of your groves, and the 
murmurs of your spring, you climb the hills yet 
covered with the dew, and thence view the fertile 
plains and cultivated vallies smiling at your feet, 
discovering now and then the distant sea bearing the 
freighted vessels to their ports. The tablets are 
ready in your hand, to note down the thoughts which 
fill your mind. When the sun rises above the horizon, 
you seek your humble cot, partake of a frugal repast, 
and enjoy undisturbed repose. To avoid the meridian 
heat of the day, you retire into the vales, where your 
delightful spring, precipitating over rocks with echo- 
ing sounds, pours forth its wandering streams, and 



300 ZIMMEMRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

forms the charming river which fertilizes the valley 
of Vaucluse. I see the cavern through which the 
water, sometimes low and tranquil, enters; and 
where, even in the hottest day of summer, there 
breathes so fresh an air. Within the shade of that 
grotto, the arched and lofty roof of which hangs o'er 
the moving chrystal of the stream, I perceive you en- 
joying with ravished eyes the enchanting view which 
lies before you : your imagination warms, your soul 
takes its intellectual flight, and then you produce 
your choicest works. Thus retired, the vanities of this 
world appear like a light and transient shadow, and 
you quietly surrender them to a more useful employ- 
ment of your time. When you quit the grotto your 
tablets are full. Do not, however, flatter yourself 
that you alone enjoy these treasures of your soul ; 
for mine, which never quits you, participates with 
you in all your delights." 

The felicity which, in the midst of so many dan- 
gers, Petrarch thus tasted at Vaucluse, the impatience 
of his passion would have destroyed ; but Solitude, 
judiciously employed, dissipates all the pangs with 
which Love afflicts the heart, and affords full compen- 
sation for the pleasures it takes away. Solitude, how- 
ever, does not deprive the bosom of the unhappy lover 
of its usual comforts ; he reviews his past pleasures 
without danger, and laments their transitory nature 
without regret ; he ceases in time to weep and suffer; 
and when death arrives, exclaims with a tranquil 
sigh, " O lovely object of my soul ! if you should 
learn my fate, a love like mine may well deserve the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 301 

tribute of a tear, and call one gentle sigh from your 
relenting heart. Forget my faults, and while my 
virtues live, let my follies die within your bosom !" 

It was thus, in struggling against the prevalence 
of his passion, that Petrarch rose to that sublimity, 
and acquired that richness of imagination, which 
distinguished his character, and gave him an ascen- 
dancy over the age in which he lived greater than 
any individual has since, in any country, been able 
to obtain. His mind passed with the happiest facility 
from grave to gay ; and he was enabled, when the 
occasion required, to adopt the boldest resolutions, 
and perform the most courageous actions. He who, 
at the feet of his mistress, wept, sighed, and sobbed 
like a child ; who only wrote soft and tender verses 
in her praise ; no sooner turned his eyes towards 
Rome, than his mind assumed a bolder tone, and he 
wrote with all the strength and spirit of the Augustan 
age. Monarehs,* in reading his lyric poetry, have 
forgotten the calls of hunger and the charms of sleep -, 
but he was then no longer the sighing Muse of Love, 
chaunting only amorous verses to the relentless fair : 
he no longer effeminately kissed the enslaving chains 
of an imperious female, who treated him with aversion 
and contempt; but with republican intrepidity he 
regenerated, by his writings, the spirit of liberty 
throughout Italy, and sounded aloud alarm to tyranny 

* Robert King of Naples frequently relinquished the 
most serious affairs to read the works of Petrarch, without 
thinking either of his meals or his bed. 



302 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

and tyrants. Great as a statesman, profound and 
judicious as a minister, he was consulted upon every 
important transaction of Europe, and frequently en- 
gaged in the most arduous negotiations. A zealous 
friend to humanity, he endeavoured upon all occasions 
to extinguish the torch of discord. Princes solicited 
his company, revered his genius, formed their minds 
from his precepts, and learned from his good sense 
and humanity the noble art of rendering their sub- 
jects happy. 

Petrarch therefore, notwithstanding the violence 
of his passion, enjoyed all the advantages of Solitude. 
His visits to Vaucluse were not, as is generally con- 
ceived, that he might be nearer to Laura ; for Laura 
resided altogether at Avignon ; but that he might 
avoid the frowns of his mistress and the corruptions 
of the court. Seated in his little garden, which was 
situate at the foot of a lofty mountain and surrounded 
by a rapid stream, his soul rose superior to the ad- 
versities of his fate. He was, indeed, by nature, 
restless and unquiet ; displeased because he was not 
at some distant place, to which it was impossible he 
could ever go; anxious to attain every thing the 
instant he wished for it; looking continually for 
what it was impossible to find ; troubled, in short, 
by that solicitude which generally accompanies genius. 
But in his moments of tranquillity, a sound judg- 
ment, joined to an exquisite sensibility, enabled him 
to enjoy the delights of Solitude superior to any 
mortal that ever existed either before or since his 
time ; and in these moments, Vaucluse was, to his 



ZIMMBRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 303 

feelings, the Temple of Peace, the residence of calm 
repose, and a safe harbour against all the tempests 
of the soul. 

Solitude therefore, although it cannot conquer 
Love, purines its most ardent flame. Man, although 
he cannot extirpate the passions which the God of 
nature has planted in his breast, may direct them to 
their proper ends. If, therefore, you feel an inclina- 
tion to be happier than Petrarch, share the pleasures 
of your retirement with some amiable character, 
who, better than the cold precepts of philosophy, 
will beguile or banish, by the charms of conversa- 
tion, all the cares and torments of life. A truly wise 
man has said, that the presence of one thinking being 
like ourselves, whose bosom glows with sympathy 
and love, so far from destroying the advantages of 
Solitude, renders them more favourable. If, like me/ 
you owe your happiness to the fond affection of a 
wife, she will soon induce you to forget the society 
of men, by a tender and unreserved communication 
of every sentiment of her mind, of every secret feeling 
of her heart ; and the employments, the business, 
the vicissitudes of life will render, by their variety, 
the subjects of confidential discourse and sweet 
domestic converse proportionably diversified. The 
orator, who speaks upon this subject with so much 
truth and energy, must have felt with exquisite sen- 
sibility the pleasures of domestic happiness. 

" Here," says he, (< every kind expression is remem- 
bered, the emotions of one heart re-act with corre- 
spondent effects upon the other ; every thought is 



304 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

treasured up ; every testimony of affection returned ; 
the happy pair enjoy in each other's company all the 
pleasures of the mind, and there is no feeling which 
does not communicate itself to their hearts. To 
beings thus united by the sincerest affection and the 
closest friendship, every thing that is said or done, 
every wish, and every event, become mutually im- 
portant. Beings thus united, and they alone, regard 
the advantages, which they severally possess, with a 
joy and satisfaction untinctured by envy. It is only 
under such an union that faults are pointed out with 
cautious tenderness, and without ill-nature ; that 
looks bespeak the inclination of the soul ; that the 
gratification of every wish and desire is anticipated ; 
that every view and intention is assimilated; that 
the sentiments of the one conform to those of the 
other ; and that each rejoices with cordiality at the 
smallest advantage which the other acquires."* 

Thus it is that the Solitude which we share with 

* On reading this description of the effects of virtuous 
love, it is impossible not to recollect those beautiful lines in 
Pope's Eloisa to Abelard : 

" Oh happy state ! when souls each other draw, 

When Love is Liberty, and Nature Law ; 

All then is full, possessing and possest, 

No cravirjg void left aching in the breast ; 

Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, 

And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. 

This sure is bliss, if bliss on earth there be, 

And, once the lot of Abelard and Me." 



ZIMMERMANN 0\ T SOLITUDE. 305 

an amiable object procures us tranquillity, satisfac- 
tion, heartfelt joy; and makes the humblest cottage 
a dwelling-place of the purest pleasure. Love in 
the retreats of Solitude, while the mind and the 
heart are in harmony with each other, is capable of 
preserving the noblest sentiments in the soul, of 
raising the understanding to the highest degree of 
elevation, of filling the bosom with new benevolence, 
of rooting out all the seeds of vice, of strengthening 
and extending all the virtues. The attacks of ill- 
humour are by these means subdued, the violence of 
the passions moderated, and the bitter cup of affliction 
sweetened. It is thus that a happy love renders So- 
litude serene, alleviates all the sufferings of the 
world, and strews the sweetest flowers along the 
paths of life. 

Solitude frequently converts the deep anguish of 
distress into a soothing melancholy. Gentleness is 
a balm to the wounded heart. Every malady there- 
fore, both of the body and the mind, feels sensible 
effects from the consolatory expressions, the kind 
affability, the interesting anxieties of a virtuous wife. 
When, alas ! the buffets of the world had broke 
down my mind ; rendered every thing around me dis- 
pleasing : destroyed all the vigour and energy of my 
soul ; extinguished even the hope of relief; and 
concealing the beauties of nature from my eyes, 
rendered the whole universe a lifeless tomb; the 
kind attentions of a wife conveyed a secret charm, a 
silent and consolatory virtue to my mind. Oh! 
nothing can so sweetly soften all our sufferings as a 
conviction that woman is not indifferent to our fate. 



306 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

The varieties of rural scenery afford to the dis- 
tracted bosom the same tranquillity, which the atten- 
tions and conversation of an amiable wife procure 
to a sick and suffering husband, and change unutter- 
able affliction into soft sorrow and plaintive grief. 

Persons even of the tend erest years, young females 
from fifteen to eighteen years of age, who possess 
fine sensibilities and lively imaginations, frequently 
experience the tender melancholy which Solitude in- 
spires, when, in the retirement of rural life, they feel 
the first desires of love -, and wandering every where 
in search of a beloved object, sigh for one alone, 
although unconscious of any particular object of 
affection. This species of melancholy is not symp- 
tomatic; for I have frequently seen it an original 
malady* Rousseau was attacked with it at Vevai 
upon the banks of the Lake of Geneva. " My heart," 
says he, ee rushed with ardour from my bosom into a 
thousand innocent felicities ; melting to tenderness, 
I sighed and wept like a child. How frequently, 
stopping to indulge my feelings, and seating myself 
on a piece of broken rock, did I amuse myself with 
seeing my tears drop into the stream!" I cannot 
transcribe these lines without shedding tears on recol- 
lecting, that in the seventeenth year of my age I 
frequently seated myself with similar agitation under 
the peaceful shades of those delightful shores. Love 
relieved my pains; love, so sweetly enjoyed among 
the groves which adorn the banks of the Lake of 
Geneva;* love, the only disease which Solitude 

* There is no native, or indeed any person possessing 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 307 

cannot cure ; and which indeed we willingly endure 
without wishing for relief. To suffer with so much 
softness and tranquillity ; to indulge in tender sorrow 
without knowing why, and still to prefer retirement; 
to love the lonely margin of a limpid lake ; to wan- 
der alone upon broken rocks, in deep caverns, in 
dreary forests ; to feel no pleasures but in the sublime 
and beautiful of nature, in those beauties which the 
world despise ; to desire the company of only one 
other being to whom we may communicate the sen- 
sations of the soul, who would participate in all our 
pleasures, and forget every thing else in the universe ; 
this is a condition for which every young man ought 
to wish, who wishes to fiy from the merciless ap- 
proaches of a cold contentless old age.* 

It is not, however, to every species of affliction 
that Solitude will afford relief. Oh my beloved Hirsch- 
feld! I can never restrain my tears from flowing 

sensibility, of whatever country he may be, who has ever 
beheld, without feeling the tenderest emotion, the delight- 
ful borders of the Lake of Geneva; the enchanting spectacle 
which nature there exhibits ; and the vast and majestic 
horizon which that mass cf water presents to the view. Who 
has ever returned from this scene without casting back his 
eyes on this interesting picture, and experiencing the same 
affliction with which the heart separates from a beloved 
friend whom we have no expectation ever to see again 1 

* This reflection of Petrarch is very affecting and very 
just. " Illos annos egi tanta in requie, tantaque dulcedine, 
ut illud ferme tempus solum mihi vita fuerit, reliquum omne 
gupplicium." 



308 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

with increased abundance, whenever I read, in thy 
immortal work upon the pleasures of a country life, 
the following affecting passage, which always sinks 
deeply into my heart : " The tears of affliction dry up 
under the sympathising breath of zephyrs : the heart 
expands and only feels a tranquil sorrow. The bloom 
of nature presents itself to our eyes on every side ; 
and in the enjoyment of its fragrance we feel relief 
from woe. Every sad and sorrowful idea gradually 
disappears. The mind no longer rejects consolatory 
meditations; and as the evening sun absorbs the 
damp vapours of a rainy day, a happy tranquillity 
dissipates the troubles of the soul, and disposes us 
to enjoy the peaceful charms of rural life." 

There are, however, bosoms so alive to misfortune, 
that the continual remembrance of those who were 
once dear to their hearts preys upon their vitals, and 
by slow degrees consumes their lives. The reading 
of a single line, written by the hand they loved, 
freezes their blood: the very sight of the tomb, 
which has swallowed up the remains of all their soul 
held dear, is intolerable to their eyes. On such beings, 
alas 1 the Heavens smile in vain. The early violet 
and the twittering groves, proclaiming, with the 
approach of spring, the regeneration of all nature, 
bring to them no charms. The garden's variegated 
hues irritate their feelings, and, during the remainder 
of their lives, they behold with horror those retreats, 
to which they were kindly invited to sooth the violence 
of their distress. They refuse to follow the com- 
passionate hand extended to lead them from their 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 30Q 

house of sorrow to the verdant plains of happiness 
and peace. Such characters generally possess warm 
and strong passions ; but the fineness of their feel- 
ings becomes a real malady ; and they require to be 
treated with great attention and with constant 
kindness. 

Softer minds, under circumstances equally dis- 
tressful, derive a very powerful charm from Solitude. 
The misfortunes they feel partake of the tranquillity 
of their nature ; they plant upon the fatal tomb the 
weeping willow and the ephemeral rose, as striking 
emblems of their sorrow and misfortune ; they erect 
mausolea and compose funeral dirges ; their hearts are 
continually occupied by the idea of those whom their 
eyes deplore, and they exist, under the sensations of 
the truest and most sincere sorrow, in a kind of 
middle state between earth and heaven. Such cha- 
racters, I am conscious, feel misfortunes to their full 
extent ; but their sorrows, provided they are undis- 
turbed, appear to me of the happiest kind. I do not 
pretend jto say their sorrows are insincere, or that 
their grief is less than that of those who give them- 
selves up to fits of violence, and sink under the 
pressure of their misfortunes ; this would be a spe- 
cies of stupidity, an enormity, of the consequences 
of which I am fully sensible : but I call them happy 
mourners, because their constitutions are so framed, 
that their grief and sorrow do not decrease the force 
and energy of their minds. They find enjoyments in 
those things from which minds of a different texture 
would feel aversion. They feel celestial joys in the 



SJO ZJMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

unceasing recollection of those persons whose loss 
they deplore. 

Every adversity of life is much more easily over- 
come in Solitude than in the world, provided the 
soul will nobly bend its flight towards a different 
object, When a man thinks that he has no resources 
but in despair or death, he deceives himself; for 
despair is no resource. Let him retire to his study, 
and there seriously trace out the consequences of 
some settled truth, and his tears will no longer fall, 
the weight of his misfortunes will grow light, and 
the pangs of sorrow fly from his breast. 

In Solitude the most trifling emotion of the heart, 
every appearance of domestic felicity or rural pleasure, 
drives away impatience and ill-humour. Ill-humour 
is an uneasy and insupportable condition, into which 
the soul frequently falls, when soured by a number 
of those petty vexations, which we daily experience 
in every step of our progress through life ; but we 
need only to shut the door in order to avoid this 
scourge of happiness. Impatience is a stifled anger, 
which men silently manifest by looks and gestures, 
and weak minds ordinarily reveal by a shower of 
complaints. A grumbler is never farther from his 
proper sphere than when he is in company ; Solitude 
is his only asylum. 

Vexations, however, of almost every kind are 
much sooner healed in the silence of retirement than 
in the noise of the world. When we have attained 
a cheerful disposition, and do not suffer any thing to 
thwart, restrain, or sour the temper of our minds -, 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 311 

when we have learned the art of vanquishing our- 
selves; no worldly vexations can then obstruct our 
happiness. The deepest melancholy and most settled 
weariness of life have, by these means, been frequently 
banished from the breast. The progress to this end 
is, in truth, much more rapid in women than in men. 
The mind of a lively female flies immediately to hap- 
piness, while that of a melancholy man still creeps 
on with pain. The soft bosoms of the fair are easily 
elevated or depressed : but these effects must be 
produced by means less abstracted than Solitude ; by 
something that will strike their senses, and by their 
assistance penetrate to the heart. On the con- 
trary, the mental diseases of men augment by slow 
degrees, take deeper root, lay stronger hold of the 
breast : and to drive them away it is necessary to 
apply the most efficacious remedies with unshaken 
constancy; for here feeble prescriptions are of no 
avail. The only chance of success is by exerting every 
endeavour to place the body under the regimen of the 
mind. Vigorous minds frequently banish the most in- 
veterate evils, or form a powerful shield against all the 
darts of fate, and by braving every danger drive away 
those feelings by which others are irritated and de- 
stroyed. They boldly turn their eyes from what things 
are, to what they ought to be ; and with determined 
resolution support the bodies they are designed to 
animate, while weaker minds surrender every thing 
committed to their care. 

The soul, however, always yields to those circum- 
stances which are most agreeable to its peculiar 



312 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

character. The gaming-table, luxurious feasts, and 
brilliant assemblies, are the most palatable aliments, 
the most pleasing comforts to the generality of men ; 
while the bosoms of those who sigh for Solitude, 
from a consciousness of all the advantages it affords, 
feel no tranquillity or enjoyment but in peaceful 
shades. 

These reflections upon the advantages which the 
heart derives from Solitude bring me, at last, to this 
important question : Whether it be easier to live 
virtuously in Solitude or in the world? 

In society, the virtues are frequently practised 
from a mere sense of duty. The clergy feel it their 
duty to afford instruction to the ignorant and con- 
solation to the afflicted. The judges think it their 
duty to render justice to the injured or oppressed. 
The physician pays his visit to the sick, and cures 
them, ill or well : and ail for the sake of humanity, 
say these gentlemen. But all this is false ; the clergy 
afford consolation, the lawyer renders justice, the 
physician cures, not always from the decided inclina- 
tion of the heart, but because he must, because his 
duty requires it ; because the one must do honour to 
his gown, the other is placed in the seat of justice, 
and the third has pledged his skill on such and such 
prognostics. The words " your known humanity," 
which always shock my feelings, and are introduc- 
tory to the contents of a thousand letters I have re- 
ceived, are nothing more than the style of custom, a 
common flattery and falsehood. Humanity is a vir- 
tue, a nobleness of soul of the highest rank ; and 



Z1MMERMANN ON SOLITUDE, 313 

Low can any one know whether I do such and such 
things from the love of virtue, or because I am bound 
by duty to perform them ? 

Good works, therefore, are not always acts of 
virtue. The heart of that man, who never detaches 
himself from the affairs of the world, is frequently 
shut against every thing that is good. It is possible 
to do good and not be virtuous ; for a man may be 
great in his actions and little in his heart.* Virtue 
is a quality much more rare than is generally ima- 
gined. It is therefore necessary to be frugal of the 
words humanity, virtue, patriotism, and others of 
the same import ; they ought only to be mentioned 
upon great occasions ; for by too frequent use their 
meaning is weakened, and the qualities they describe 
brought into contempt. AVho would not blush to be 
called learned or humane, when he hears the know- 
ledge of so many ignorant persons boasted of, and 
" the well-known humanity" of so many villains 
praised ? 

The probability is, that men will do more good 
in the retreats of Solitude than in the world. In 
fact, a virtuous man, of whatever description he may 
be, is not virtuous in consequence of example, for 
virtuous examples are unhappily too rarely seen in the 
world, but because in the silence of reflection he feels 

* " Viri potestatibus sublimes/' says lord chancellor 
Bacon," ipsi tibi ignoti sunt. Et dum negotiis distrahuntur, 
tempore carent, quo sanitati aut corporis aut animae suas 
consulant." 

p 



314 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

that the pleasures of a good heart surpass every other^ 
and constitute the true happiness of life. The greater 
part, therefore of virtuous actions are exercised in 
silence and obscurity. 

Virtuous actions are more easily and more freely 
performed in Solitude than in the world. In Soli- 
tude no man blushes at the sight of Virtue, but in 
the world she drags on an obscure existence, and 
seems afraid to shew her face in public. The inter- 
course of the world is the education of vice. Men 
possessed of the best inclinations are surrounded by 
so many snares and dangers, that they all commit 
some fault every day of their lives. One man who 
plays a first-rate character upon the theatre of the 
world, is deficient in virtuous inclinations ; in an- 
other of the same class, his inclinations are good 
while his actions are vicious. In the chamber, before 
we engage in the complicated business of the day, 
we are, perhaps, kind, impartial, and candid, for then 
the current of our tempers has received no contra- 
diction ; but with the greatest attention, with the 
most scrupulous vigilance, it is impossible to con- 
tinue through the day completely masters of our- 
selves, oppressed as we are with cares and vexations, 
obliged to conform to a series of disgusting circum- 
stances, to give audience to a multitude of men, and 
to endure a thousand absurd and unexpected ac- 
cidents which distract the mind. The folly, there- 
fore, of mystic minds was in forgetting that their 
souls were subjected to a body, and aiming, in con- 
sequence of that error, at the highest point of specu- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 310 

lative virtue. The nature of human beings cannot be 
altered merely by living in a hermitage. The ex- 
ercise of virtue is only easy in those situations where 
it is not exposed to danger, and then it loses all its 
merit. God created many hermits too weak to save 
themselves when plunged into the abyss, because he 
rendered them strong enough not to fall into it. 

I shall here subjoin an excellent observation of a 
celebrated Scottish philosopher — " It is the peculiar 
effect of virtue to make a man's chief happiness 
arise from himself and his own conduct. A bad 
man is wholly the creature of the world. He hangs 
upon its favour, lives by its smiles, and is happy or 
miserable in proportion to his success. But to a 
virtuous man, success in worldly matters is but a se- 
condary object. To discharge his own part with 
integrity and honour is his chief aim ; having done 
properly what was incumbent on him to do, his mind 
is at rest, and he leaves the event to Providence. His 
witness is in Heaven, and his record is on high. 
Satisfied with the approbation of God and the tes- 
timony of a good conscience, he enjoys himself, and 
despises the triumphs of guilt. In proportion as 
such manly principles rule your heart, you will be- 
come independent of the world, and will forbear com- 
plaining of its discouragements." 

To recommend this independence of the world is 
the first aim and only end of the little philosophy 
which may be found in this Treatise upon Solitude. 
It is not my doctrine to lead men into the deserts, or 
to place their residence, like that of owls, in the 



316 ZTMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

trunks of hollow trees ; but I would willingly re- 
move from their minds the excessive fear of men and 
of the world. I would, as far as is practicable, ren- 
der them independent; I would break their fetters, 
inspire them with a contempt of public society, and 
leave them to devote their minds to Solitude, in 
order that they may be able to say, at least during 
the course of two hours in a day, " We are free" 

Such a state of independence cannot be displeas- 
ing even to the greatest enemies of Liberty ; for it 
simply carries the mind to a rational use of Soli- 
tude. It is by intellectual collection, by the mind's 
strengthening itself in the sepure and noble senti- 
ments, that we are rendered more able and more 
anxious to fill our respective stations in life with 
propriety. 

The true apostles of Solitude have said, "It is 
only by employing with propriety the hours of a 
happy leisure, that we adopt firm and solid resolu- 
tions to govern our minds and guide our actions. It 
is there only that we can quietly reflect upon the 
transactions of life, upon the temptations to which 
we are most exposed, upon those weaker sides of the 
heart which we ought to guard with the most unceas- 
ing care, and previously arm ourselves against what- 
ever is dangerous in our commerce with mankind. 
Perhaps though virtue may appear, at first sight, to 
contract' the bounds of enjoyment, you will find, upon 
reflection, that in truth it enlarges them ; if it re- 
strain the excess of some pleasures, it favours and 
increases others; it precludes you from none but 



%-IMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 317 

such as are either fantastic and imaginary, or per- 
nicious and destructive. The rich proprietor love s 
to amuse himself in a contemplation of his wealthy 
the voluptuary in his entertainments, the man of the 
world with his friends and his assemblies ; but the 
truly good man finds his pleasure in the scrupulous 
discharge of the august duties of life. He sees a 
new sun shining before him ; thinks himself sur- 
rounded by a more pure and lively splendour ; every 
object is embellished, and he gaily pursues his career. 
He who penetrates into the secret causes of things, 
who reads in the respectable obscurity of a wise So- 
litude, will return us public thanks. We immedi- 
ately acquit ourselves more perfectly in business, we 
resist with greater ease the temptations of vice, and 
we owe all these advantages to the pious recollection 
which Solitude inspires, to our separation from man- 
kind, and to our independence of the world." 

Liberty, leisure, a quiet conscience, and a retire- 
ment from the world, are therefore the surest and 
most infallible means to arrive at virtue. Under 
such circumstances, it is not necessary to restrain 
the passions merely to prevent them from disturb- 
ing the public order, or to abate the fervour of ima- 
gination ; for in our review of things we willingly 
leave them as they are, because we have learned to 
laugh at their absurdity. Domestic life is no longer, 
^s in the gay world, a scene of languor and disgust ; 
the field of battle to every base and brutal passion ; 
the dwelling of envy, vexation, and ill-humour. 
Peace and happiness inhabit those bosoms that re- 



318 ZfMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

nounce the poisonous springs of pleasure ; and the 
mind is thereby rendered capable of communicating 
its purest joys to all around. He who shuns the 
contaminated circles of the vicious ; who flies from 
the insolent looks of proud stupidity, and the arro- 
gance of successful villainy ; who beholds the void 
which all the idle entertainments and vain preten- 
sions of public life leave within the breast, is never 
discontented or disturbed at home. 

The pleasures of the world lose their charms on 
every sacrifice made in Solitude at the altar of vir- 
tue. " I love rather to shed tears myself, than to 
make others shed them/' said a German lady to me 
one day. She did not seem conscious that it is almost 
impossible either to say or do any thing more gene- 
rous. Virtue like this affords more real content to 
the heart than all the enjoyments of the world, and 
all the amusements which are hourly sought to de- 
stroy time, and to steal the bosom from itself. The 
mind is always happy in finding itself capable of ex- 
ercising faculties which it was not before conscious 
it possessed. Solitude opens the soul to every noble 
pleasure ; fills it with intelligence, serenity, calmness 
and content, when we expected nothing but tears of 
sorrow ; it, in short, repays every misfortune by a 
thousand new and unalterable delights. 

There is not a villain in existence whose mind 
does not silently acknowledge, that Virtue is the 
corner-stone of all felicity, in the world, as well as 
in Solitude. Vice, however, is continually spreading 
her silken nets to ensnare multitudes of every rank 



-ZIMMERMANN OX SOLITUDE. 319 

and every station. To watch all the seductive in- 
clinations of the heart, not only when they are pre- 
sent, but while they yet lie dormant in the breast, to 
vanquish every desire by employing the mind in the 
pursuit of noble pleasures, has ever been considered 
the greatest conquest which the soul is capable of 
gaining- over the world and itself; and inward peace 
has ever been the price of this victory. 

Happy is the man who carries with him into So- 
litude this inward peace of mind, and there preserves 
it unaltered. Of what service would it be to leave 
the town, and seek the calmness and tranquillity of 
retirement, if misanthropy still lurk within the heart, 
and we there continue our sacrifices to this fatal 
passion ? Divine content, a calm and open counten- 
ance, will, under such circumstances, be as seldom 
found in the flower-enamelled meadows, as in the 
deepest night of Solitude, or in the silent shades of 
obscure cells. To purify and protect the heart, is 
the first and last duty which we have to perform in 
Solitude : this task once accomplished, our happi- 
ness is secure; for we have then learned the value 
of the tranquillity, the leisure, and the liberty we 
enjoy. Hatred to mankind ought not to be the 
cause of our leaving the world ; we may shun their 
society, and still maintain our wishes for their 
felicity. 

An essential portion of the happiness which we 
taste in Solitude arises from our ability to appreciate 
things according to their true value, independently 
of the public opinion. When Rome, after the con- 



320 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

quest of the pirates, removed Lucullus from the head 
of the army, in order to give the command of it to 
Pompey, and resigned by this act the government of 
the empire to the discretion of a single man, that 
artful citizen beat his breast, as a sign of grief, at 
being invested with the honour, and exclaimed - f 
" Alas ! is there no end to my conflicts ? How much 
better would it have been to have remained one of 
the undistinguished Many, than to be perpetually 
engaged in war, and have my body continually locked 
in armour ! Shall I never be able to fly from envy to 
a rural retreat, to domestic happiness, to 'conjugal 
endearments !" — Pompey spoke the sentiments of 
truth in the language of dissimulation ; for he had 
not yet learned really to esteem that which all men 
possessed of native ambition and the lust of power 
despise ; nor did he yet contemn that which at this 
period of the republic every Roman, who was eager 
to command, esteemed more than all other things : 
unlike Manius Curius, the greatest Roman of his 
age, who, after having vanquished several warlike na- 
tions, driven Pyrrhus out of Italy, and enjoyed three 
times the honours of a triumph,* retired to his cot- 
tage in the country, and with his own victorious 
hands cultivated his little farm, where the ambassa- 

* Manius Curius Dentatus triumphed twice in his first 
consulate in the 463d of Rome ; first over the Samnites, 
and afterwards over the Sabines ; and eight years after- 
wards, in his third consulate, he triumphed over Pyrrhus. 
After this he led up the less triumph, called Ovation, for his 
victory over the Lucanians. — Translator. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 221 

dors of the Samnites came to offer him a large pre- 
sent of gold, and found him seated in the chimney- 
corner dressing turnips.* 

No king or prince was ever so happy as was 
Manius Curius in the humble employment of dress- 
ing his turnips. Princes know too well, that under 
many circumstances they are deprived of friends ; 
and this is the reason why they ask the advice of 
many, but confide in none. The honest subjects of 
a nation, every man of reflection and good sense, 
pity the conditions of virtuous sovereigns ; for even 
the best of sovereigns are not altogether exempt 
from fears, jealousies, and torments. Their felicity 
never equals that of a laborious and contented hus- 
bandman ; their pleasures are not so permanent ; 
they never experience the same tranquillity and 
content. The provision of a peasant is coarse, but 
to his appetite it is delicious ; his bed is hard, but he 
goes to it fatigued with the honest labours of the day, 
and sleeps sounder on his mat of straw, than monarchs 
on their beds of down. 

The pleasures of Solitude may be enjoyed by 
every description of men, without exception of rank 
or. fortune. The freshness of the breeze, the mag- 
nificence of the forests, the rich tints of the meadows, 

* Dentatus absolutely refused the present, and gave the 
ambassadors this answer : " A man who can be satisfied 
with such a supper has no need of gold ; and I think it 
more glorious to conquer the owners of it, than to possess it 
myself." — Translator. 

P 3 



322 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

the inexhaustible variety which summer spreads over 
the face of all nature, enchant not only philosophers, 
kings, and heroes, but the beautiful picture ravishes 
the mind of the most ignorant spectator with ex- 
quisite delight. An English author has very justly 
observed, " It is not necessary that he who looks 
with pleasure on the colours of a flower should study 
the principles of vegetation, or that the Ptolemaick 
and Copernican systems should be compared, before 
the light of the sun can gladden, or its warmth invi- 
gorate. Novelty is itself a source of gratification ,• 
and Milton justly observes, that to him who has been 
long pent up in cities no rural object can be pre- 
sented, which will not delight or refresh some of his 
senses." 

Exiles themselves have frequently felt the advan- 
tages and enjoyments of Solitude. To supply the 
place of the world from which they are banished, 
they create in retirement a new world for themselves , 
forget those factitious pleasures exclusively attached 
to the condition of the great ; habituate themselves 
to others of a nobler kind, more worthy the attention 
of a rational being;* and, to pass their days in tran- 
quillity, find out a thousand little felicities, which are 
only to be met with at a distance from all society, far 



* Cicero says, " Multa praeclare Dyoriisius Phalereus in 
illo exilio scripsit, non in usum aliquem suum, quo erat or 
batus ; sed animi cultus ille erat ei quasi quidam humanita- 
tis cibus ." 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 323 

removed from all consolation, far from their country, 
their family, and their friends. 

But to procure happiness, exiles, like other men, 
must fix their minds upon some one object; they 
must adopt some particular pursuit, capable of creat- 
ing future hopes, or of affording immediate pleasure. 
Exiles, alas ! aspire to the attainment of happiness, 
and would still live for the sake of virtue. 

Maurice prince of Isenbourg distinguished him- 
self by his courage, during a service of twenty years, 
under Ferdinand duke of Brunswick, and marshal 
Broglio, in the wars between the Russians and the 
Turks. Health and repose were sacrificed to the 
gratification of his ambition and love of glory. During 
his service in the Russian army, he fell under the 
displeasure of the empress, and was sent into exile. 
The nature of exile in Russia is well known ; but he 
contrived to render even a Russian banishment 
agreeable. At first his mind and his body were op- 
pressed by the sorrows and disquietude of his situa- 
tion ; and he became a mere shadow. The little 
work written by Lord Bolingbroke upon exile fell 
accidentally into his hands. He read it several 
times ; and " in proportion to the number of times I 
read/' said the prince, in the preface of the elegant 
and nervous translation which he made of this work, 
" I felt all my sorrows and disquietudes vanish." 

This treatise of Lord Bolingbroke upon the sub- 
ject of exile is a master-piece of stoic philosophy and 
fine writing. He there boldly examines all the 
dversities of life. " Let us,' 5 says he, " set all our 



324 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

past and our present afflictions at once before our 
eyes. Let us resolve to overcome them, instead of 
flying from them, or wearing out the sense of them, 
by long and ignominious patience. Instead of pal- 
liating remedies, let us use the incision knife and the 
caustic, search the wound to the bottom, and work 
an immediate and radical cure." 

The mind, without doubt, strengthens its powers 
under the circumstances of perpetual banishment in 
the same manner as in uninterrupted Solitude ; and 
habit supplies the necessary power to support its 
misfortune. To exiles who are inclined to indulge 
all the pleasing emotions of the heart, Solitude 
indeed becomes an easy situation; for they there ex- 
perience pleasures which were before unknown, and 
from that moment forget those which they tasted in 
the happier situations of life. When Brutus saw 
Marcellus in exile at Myteline, he found him sur- 
rounded by the highest felicity of which human 
nature is susceptible, and devoted, as before his 
banishment, to the study of every useful science. 
The sight made so deep an impression on his mind, 
that when he was again returning to the world, he 
felt that it was Brutus who was going into exile, and 
not Marcellus, whom he left behind. 

Quintus Metellus Numidicus had suffered the 
same fate some years before. While the people 
were laying, under the conduct of Marius, the 
foundations of that tyranny which Caesar afterwards 
erected, Metellus singly, in the midst of an alarmed 
senate, and surrounded by an enraged populace, 



2IMMEItMANN ON SOLITUDE. 325 

refused to take the oath imposed by the pernicious 
laws of the tribune Saturninus. His constancy 
became his crime, and exile his punishment ; he was 
dragged from his seat like the vilest of criminals by 
the licentious rabble, and exposed to the indignity of 
a public impeachment. The most virtuous of the 
citizens still offered to share his fortunes, and protect 
his integrity by force 3 but he generously declined to 
increase the confusion of the commonwealth by 
asserting his innocence; for he thought it a duty 
which he owed to the laws not to suffer any sedition 
to take place ; he judged in the frenzy of the Roman 
commonwealth, as Plato had before judged in the 
dotage of the Athenian : " If the times should mend/' 
said he, " 1 shall recover my station; if not, it is a 
happiness to be absent from Rome." He went there- 
fore voluntarily into exile, and wherever he passed 
he carried the sure sympton of a sickly state, and the 
certain prognostic of an expiring republic*. 

* This event took place during the sixth cousulate of 
Marius U. C. 653. Saturninus, to satisfy his hungry fol- 
lowers, had proposed that those lands on the Po, which had 
been desolated by the irruptions of the Barbarians, should 
be seized, and distributed by the direction of Marius ; but 
when he had assembled the people to confirm this project, 
Quintus Servilius Caepio, with a band of faithful attendants, 
broke the rails, overset the urns, and dispersed the multi- 
tude. This resistance, however, only served to impel 
Saturninus to more decisive measures ; and among a variety 
of new regulations it was declared treason for any one to 
interrupt a tribune in putting a question to the people ; that 
the acts of the tribes should be considered as laws ; and that 



326 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

Rutilius also, feeling equal contempt for the 
sentiments and manners of the age, withdrew from 
the corrupted city. He had defended Asia against 
the extortions of the publicans, according to the 
strict justice of which he made profession, and to the 
particular duty of his office This generosity irritated 
the equestrian order and motives equally base ex- 
asperated IMarius's party against him. The most 
virtuous and innocent citizen of the republic was 
accused of corruption, and prosecuted by the vile 
and infamous Apicius. The authors of this false 

every senator, on pain of expulsion, should swear to confirm 
these acts within five days after they had been sanctioned 
by the approbation of the people. Marius, however, art- 
fully proposed to reject the oath demanded ; the majority of 
the senators applauded his sentiments ; and Metellus 
declared his resolution never to submit to the degrading- 
engagement. But Marius was no sooner assured of the 
firmness of this noble Roman, against whom he entertained 
an implacable hatred, than he changed the language he had 
so lately held ; and when the moment of trial arrived, he 
demanded and received the oath, amidst the acclamations 
of Saturninus and his adherents. The astonished and 
trembling senate followed his example. Metellus, bold in 
conscious virtue, alone refused to retract from his former 
declaration ; and while he rejected the importunities of his 
friends, who represented the danger to which he was ex- 
posed, " To act ill in any circumstance/' said he, " is the 
effect of a corrupt heart ; to act well when there is nothing 
to fear, is the merit of a common man ; but to act well when 
a man exposes himself to the greatest hazards is peculiar to 
the truly virtuous. " — Translator. 



ZIMMERMAN'N ON SOLITUDE. 32? 

accusation sat as judges ; and Rutilius was of course 
condemned ; for he scarcely condescended to defend 
the cause. Retiring into the east, the Roman virtue, 
which Rome was too degenerate to bear, was received 
with every mark of affection and respect. Before the 
term of his banishment expired, he shewed still 
greater contempt to Rome: for when Sylla would 
have recalled him, he not only refused to return, but 
removed the place of his residence to a greater 
distance. 

To all these instances * of happy and contented 
exiles, Cicero is a memorable exception. He pos- 
sessed all the resources, all the sentiments necessary 

* These instances are also adduced in that truly great 
and philosophic work, " Reflections upon Exile," by Lord 
Bolingbroke. " I propose by these examples," says his 
lordship, " to shew that as a change of place, simply con- 
sidered, can render no man unhappy, so the other evils 
which are objected to exile either cannot happen to wise 
and virtuous men, or if they do happen to them, cannot 
render them miserable. Stones are hard, and cakes of ice 
cold, and all who feel them feel alike : but the good or the 
bad events, which fortune brings upon us, are felt according 
to the qualities that we not they possess. They are in 
themselves indifferent and common accidents, and they 
acquire strength by nothing but our vice or our weakness. 
Fortune can dispense neither felicity nor infelicity, unless 
we co-operate with her, Few men who are unhappy under 
the loss of an estate would be happy in the possession of it ; 
and those who deserve to enjoy the advantages which exile 
takes away will not be unhappy when they are deprived of 
them." — Translator. 



328 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE* 

to draw the greatest advantages from Solitude ; but 
he had not sufficient strength of mind to support 
himself under the adversity of banishment. This 
great man, who had been the saviour of his country, 
who had feared, in the support of that cause, 
neither the menaces of a dangerous faction, nor the 
poniards of assassins, when he came to suffer for the 
same cause sunk under the weight. He had before 
lamented the weakness of his constitution, but after 
exile he became quite dejected, and when that once 
happens, all power of mind is gone ; the soul imme- 
diately loses all its energies, and becomes equally 
incapable of suggesting vigorous measures, or of 
performing heroic actions. Cicero dishonoured that 
banishment which indulgent Providence meant to be 
the means of rendering his glory complete. Uncer- 
tain whether he should go, or what he should do, 
fearful as a woman, and froward as a child, he 
lamented the loss of his rank, of his riches, and of 
his splendid popularity. His eloquence served only 
to paint his ignominy in stronger colours. He wept 
over the ruins of his fine house which Clodius had 
demolished : and his separation from Terentia, whom 
he repudiated not long afterwards, was perhaps an 
affliction to him at this time. Every thing becomes 
intolerable to the man who is once subdued by grief. 
He regrets what he took no pleasure in enjoying; 
and, overloaded already, he shrinks at the weight of 
a feather. Cicero's behaviour, in short, was such, 
that his friends, as well as his enemies, believed him 
to have lost his senses. Caesar beheld, with secret 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 329 

satisfaction, the man who had refused to be his lieu- 
tenant weeping under the scourge of Clodius 
Pompey hoped to find some excuse for his own ingra- 
titude, in the contempt to which the friend whom he 
had abandoned exposed himself. Nay, Atticus 
judged him too meanly attached to his former fortune, 
and reproached him for it. Atticus, whose great 
talents were usury and trimming, who placed his 
principal merit in being rich, and who would have 
been noted with infamy at Athens for keepiug well 
with all sides and venturing on none ; even Atticus 
blushed for Tully, and the most plausible man alive 
assumed the style of Cato. Solitude lost all its in- 
fluence over Cicero; because weak and melancholy 
sentiments continually depressed his mind, and 
turned the worst side of every object to his view. He 
died, however, like a hero, and not like a dejected 
coward. " Approach, old soldier," cried he from 
his litter, to Pompilius Loenas, his client and his 
murderer $ " and, if you have the courage, take my 
life." 

A man under the adversity of banishment cannot 
hope to see his days glide quietly away in rural de- 
lights and philosophic repose, except he has honour- 
ably discharged those duties which he owed to the 
world, and given that bright example to future ages, 
which every character exhibits who is as great after 
his fall as he was at the most brilliant period of his 
prosperity. 

Solitude affords an unalterable felicity under the 
pressures of old age, and in the decline of life. The 



330 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

life of man is a voyage of short duration, and his old 
age a fleeting day. The mind is enabled by Solitude 
to forget the tempests of which it was so long the 
sport : old age therefore, if we consider it as the time 
of repose, as an interval between the affairs of this 
world and the higher concerns of death, a harbour 
whence we quietly view the rocks on which w r e were 
in danger of being wrecked, is, perhaps, the most 
agreeable period of our lives. 

The human mind, anxious to increase its stores of 
knowledge, resorts in general to outward and distant 
objects, instead of applying to its own internal 
powers, and to those objects that are more immedi- 
ately within its reach. We wander to foreign shores 
in search of that which might perhaps be better 
found at home. True and useful wisdom, such as 
will give discretion to youth, and the advantages of 
experience to age, can only be learned in Solitude, 
and taught by self-examination. Solitude will repress 
the levity of youth, render manhood cheerful and 
serene, and banish the depression which too fre- 
quently accompanies old age. 

Youth enters gaily on the sea of life ; and fondly 
dreams each wind and star his friend, until the storm 
of sorrow shakes his shattered bark, and experience 
teaches him to guard against the rock by which he 
was surprised. Acquainted with the shoals and dan- 
gers by which he is surrounded in the world, caution 
insures success ; he no longer complains of the tem- 
pest which obstructed his voyage, but looks with 
happy omens towards the haven of tranquillity and 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 331 

repose; and relies for happiness upon that knowledge 
which at an earlier period of his life he has gained 
of himself. 

A celebrated German has sagely observed, that 
there are political as well as religious chartreux; 
and that both the one and the other order are fre- 
quently the best and most pious of men. " In the 
deepest recesses of the forest/' says this writer, 
" dwells the peaceful sage, the tranquil observer, 
the friend of truth, the lover of his country. His 
wisdom excites the admiration of mankind 3 they 
derive lustre from the beams of his knowledge, adore 
his love of truth, and feel his affection to his fellow 
creatures. They are anxious to gain his confidence 
and his friendship : and are as much astonished at the 
wisdom which proceeds from his lips, and the rec- 
titude which accompanies all his actions, as they are 
at the obscurity of his name, and the mode of his 
existence. They endeavour to draw him from his 
Solitude, and place him on the throne; but they im- 
mediately perceive inscribed upon his forehead, 
beaming with sacred fire, ' Odi profanum vulgus et 
arceo/ and, instead of being his seducers, they be- 
come his Proselytes." 

But, alas ! this political chartreux is no more. I 
saw him formerly in Wetravia. His animated figure, 
announcing the highest degree of wisdom and tran- 
quillity, filled my bosom with respect and filial love. 
There did not, perhaps, at that time exist a character 
more profound in any court 5 he was intimately ac- 
quainted with all, and corresponded personally with 



332 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

some of the most celebrated sovereigns of Europe. I 
never found a man who penetrated with so much 
skill and certainty into the thoughts and actions of 
others ; who had formed such true opinions of the 
world in general, and of the most important cha- 
racters on its theatre ; never was a mind more free, 
more open, more energetic, or more mild ; an eye 
more lively and penetrating ; I never, in short, knew 
a man, in whose company I could have lived with 
higher pleasure, or died with greater comfort. The 
place of his retirement was modest and simple ; his 
grounds without art; and his table frugal. The 
charm which I felt in the rural retreat of Wateravia, 
the residence of the venerable Baron de Schauten- 
bach, is inexpressible. 

Did youth ever possess more energy and fire, 
were the hours of Solitude ever better employed, 
than by Rousseau during the latter years of his life ? 
It was in his old age that he wrote the greater and 
the best parts of his works. The poor philosopher, 
when he felt himself verging to the period of his ex- 
istence, endeavoured to find tranquillity of heart 
among the shades of Solitude; but his endeavours 
were in vain. Rousseau had experienced too fre- 
quently the fury of those who are enemies to truth ; 
his feelings had been too frequently exposed to the 
severest and most unremitted persecutions. Before 
he discovered the danger of his situation, he had 
suffered, as well from his weak constitution, as from 
the little care he had taken of his health, a long and 
painful sickness. In the last years of his life, the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 333 

effects of melancholy and chagrin were more appa- 
rent than ever. He frequently fainted, and talked 
wildly when he was ill. " All that Rousseau " wrote 
during his old age," says one of our refined critics, 
" was nonsense." " Yes," replied his fair friend, 
with great truth, " but he wrote nonsense so agree- 
ably, that we sometimes like to talk nonsense with 
him." 

Old age appears to be the properest season of 
meditation. The ardent fire of youth is stifled ; the 
meridian heat of life's short day is passed, and suc- 
ceeded by the soft tranquillity and refreshing quie- 
tude of evening. It is therefore useful to devote 
some time to meditation before we leave the world, 
whenever we can procure an interval of repose. The 
thought alone of the arrival of this happy period 
recreates the mind : it is the first fine day of spring, 
after a long and dreary winter. 

Petrarch scarcely perceived the approaches of old 
age. By constant activity he rendered his retirement 
always happy, and every year passed, in pleasure 
and tranquillity, unperceived away. From a little 
verdant arbour in the neighbourhood of a Carthusian 
monastery, he wrote to his friend Settimo with a 
naivete unknown to modern manners : (< Like a 
wearied traveller, I iucrease my ^>eace in proportion 
as 1 draw nearer the end of my journey. I read and 
write night and day ; they alternately relieve each 
other. These are my only occupations, and the 
source of all my pleasures. I lie awake a great part 
of the night. I labour ; I divert my mind ; and make 



334 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE., 

every effort in my power : the more difficulties I 
encounter, the more my ardour increases: novelty 
incites ; obstacles sharpen me : the labour is certain ; 
but the success precarious. My eyes are dimmed by 
watchings ; my hand tired of holding the pen, my 
wish is, that posterity may know me. If I do not 
succeed in this wish, the age in which I live, or at 
least the friends who have known me, will do me 
justice, and that is sufficient. My health is so good, 
my constitution so robust, my temperament so warm, 
that neither the maturity of age, the most serious 
occupations, the habit of continency, nor the power 
of time, can vanquish the rebellious enemy which I 
am obliged incessantly to attack. 1 rely upon Pro_ 
vidence, without which, as it has frequently happened 
before, I should certainly become its victim. At the 
end of winter I frequently take up arms against the 
flesh ; and am even at this moment fighting for my 
liberty against its most dangerous enemy." 

In old age, the most obscure retirement in the 
country adds still greater glory to those ardent and 
energetic minds who fly from the world to terminate 
their career in Solitude. Though far removed from 
the theatre of their fame, they shine with higher 
lustre than in the days of their youth. " It is in 
Solitude, in exile, oh the bed of death," says Pope, 
" that the noblest characters of antiquity shone with 
the greatest splendour; it was then that they per. 
formed the greatest services ; for they then commu- 
nicated their knowledge to mankind." 

Rousseau may be included in this observation. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 335 

" It is certainly doing some service," says he, " to 
give men an example of the life which they ought to 
lead. It is certainly useful, when all power of mind 
or strength of body is decayed, boldly to make men 
listen to the voice of truth. It is of some service to 
inform men of the absurdity of those opinions which 
render them miserable. I should be much more 
useless to my countrymen living amongst them, than 
I can be in the occasion of my retreat. Of what 
importance is it where I live, if I act as I ought?" 

But a young lady of Germany did not understand 
things in this way. She maintained that Rousseau 
was a dangerous seducer of the youthful mind ; and 
that he had acted extremely wrong in discovering in 
his Confessions all his faults, his vicious inclinations, 
and the worst side of his heart " Such a work 
written by a man of virtue," said she, " would be 
immediately decried ; but Rousseau, by whose writ- 
ings the wicked are so captivated, in his story of the 
' ruban vole' evinces a heart of the blackest dye ! There 
are a thousand passages in that book from which we 
may clearly see that his pen was guided by vanity 
alone, and others where we feel that he utters senti- 
ments against his own conviction. There is nothing, 
in short, throughout the work which bears the mark 
of truth : all that we learn from it is, that Madame 
de Warens was the original from which Rousseau 
copied his Julia The Confessions of Rousseau, 
generally speaking, contain a great many fine words 
with very few good thoughts. If, instead of rejecting 
e/ery opportunity of advancing himself in life, Rous- 



36 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

seau had engaged in any kind of trade, he would have 
been more useful to the world than he has been by 
the publication of his dangerous writings." 

This incomparable criticism upon Rousseau merits 
preservation, because I believe it is the only one of 
its kind. The Confessions of Rousseau are certainly 
not proper for the eye of youth ; but to me they are 
works as replete with philosophy, and as worthy of 
attention, as any the present age has produced. 
Their inimitable style and enchanting tints are their 
least merit. The remotest posterity will read the 
Confessions of Rousseau, without asking how old the 
author was when he gave to the age in which he 
lived this last instance of the sincerity of his heart. 

The days of a virtuous old man, who has attained 
to the perfection of his pleasures, flow on with unin- 
terrupted gaiety; he then receives the reward for the 
good actions he has performed, and carries with him 
the benedictions of all around him. The eye is 
never afraid to review the transactions of an honour- 
able and virtuous life. The energetic mind never 
shudders at the sight of the tomb. The empress 
Maria-Theresa has caused her own mausoleum to be 
erected ; and frequently stops to view a monument, 
the dreadful thoughts of which so few can bear: she 
points it out to the observation of her children, and 
says, " Is it possible for us to be arrogant, when we 
here behold what, in the course of a few years, will 
become the depositary of emperors?'* 

There are few men who think with so much sub- 
limity. Every one, however, may retire from the 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 337 

world; appreciate the past by its just value 3 and 
during the remainder of his days cultivate and extend 
the knowledge he has acquired. The tomb will then 
lose its menacing aspect ; and man will look upon 
death like the calm closing of a fine day. 

The pure enjoyments of the heart frequently en- 
gender religious ideas, which reciprocally augment 
the pleasures of Solitude A simple, innocent, and 
tranquil life qualifies the heart to raise itself towards 
God. The contemplation of nature disposes the 
mind to religious devotion, and the highest effect of 
religion is tranquillity. 

When the heart is penetrated with true senti- 
ments of religion, the world loses all its charms, and 
the bosom feels with less anguish the miseries and 
torments attached to humanity. You live continually 
in verdant meadows, and see yourself surrounded by 
the fresh springs, upon the borders of which the 
shepherd of Israel fed his nocks. The tumultuous 
hurry of the world appears like thunder rolling at a 
distance ; like the murmuring noise of distant waters, 
the course of which you perceive, while its waves 
break against the rock upon which you are safely 
seated. When Addison perceived that he was given 
over by his physicians, and felt his end approaching, 
he sent for a young man of a disposition naturally 
good, and who was sensible of the loss with which he 
was threatened. He arrived ; but Addison, who was 
extremely feeble, and whose life at this moment 
hung quivering on his lips, observed a profound 
silence. After a long pause, the youth at length 

Q 



338 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

addressed him, " Sir, you desired to see me; signify 
your commands, and I will execute them with religi- 
ous punctuality." Addison took him by the hand, 
and replied in his dying voice, " observe with what 
tranquillity a Christian can die*," 

Such is the consolation and tranquillity which 
religion affords ; such is the peace of mind which a 
life of simplicity and innocence procures ; a condition 
rarely experienced in the world. Even when it is 
not altogether in our own power to remove the ob- 
stacles to this inward peace; to oppose upon all 
occasions the victory of the world; the idea of 
sacrificing to God is very natural and affecting to 
every warm and virtuous heart. Why, therefore, are 
we so continually discontented and miserable ? Why 
do we so frequently complain of the want of happi- 
ness and enjoyment, if it be not because we permit 
the mind to be imposed upon by false appearances ; 
because sensuality frequently predominates over 
reason ; because we prefer deceitful gifts and fleeting 
pleasures to more essential and permanent enjoy- 
ments ; because, in one word, the bosom is insensible 
of the august precepts of our holy religion? 

* The person here alluded to was Lord Warwick, a 
young man of very irregular life, and perhaps of loose 
opinions. Addison, for whom he did not want respect, had 
very diligently endeavoured to reclaim him; but his 
arguments and expostulations had no effect : when he found 
his life near its end, therefore, he directed the young lord 
to be called, and made this last experiment to reclaim him. 
What effect this awful scene had on the earl is unknown ; 
he likewise died himself in a short time. — The Translator. 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 339 

But he who has studied the doctrines of the 
gospel, and meditated upon them in silence, has 
nothing more to desire. He is at last sensible of the 
kind of character which he forms in the world ; of 
that which he may acquire in Solitude; and of that 
which it is his duty to attain. If he be inclined to 
think like a philosopher, and live like a Christian, he 
will renounce the poisoned pleasures of that world, 
which enervate his mind> banish every serious 
thought, and prevent the heart from rising to its 
God. Disgusted with the frivolous chimeras of vanity 
and folly, he retires to a distance from them to con- 
template his own character ; to elevate his mind to 
virtuous resolutions, and to resign himself stedfastly 
and entirely to the emotions of his heart. If he con- 
tinue to sail upon that tempestuous sea, still he will 
with prudence avoid the rocks and sands of life; will 
turn, during the storm, from those dangers by which 
he may be wrecked; and feel less joy in those hours 
when he sails in a fair wind and favourable sky, than 
in those when he eludes the perils which surround 
him. 

To the man who has accustomed his mind silently 
to collect its thoughts, the hours which he consecrates 
to God in Solitude are the happiest of his life. Every 
time we silently raise our minds to God, we are 
carried back into ourselves. We become less sensible 
of the absence of those things on which we placed 
our happiness ; and experience much less pain in 
retiring from the noise of the world to the silence of 
Solitude. We acquire, by degrees, a more intimate 



340 ZIMMEMRMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

knowledge of ourselves, and learn to look into the 
human breast with a more philosophic eye. We 
scrutinize our character with greater severity; feel 
with higher sensibility the necessity of reforming our 
conduct ; and reflect more maturely on that which is 
the end of our lives. Conscious that our actions 
become more acceptable in the sight of God, in pro- 
portion to the virtuous motives from which they 
spring, men ought benevolently to suppose that we 
do good for virtue's sake ; but every good work ad- 
mits of so many secondary views, that the real 
motive is not always perhaps under the direction of 
the heart. Every good action, without doubt, con- 
veys quietude to the breast; but is this quietude 
always pure ? Was not the mind merely actuated by 
the consideration of profane and worldly views to 
gratify a transient passion ; or influenced by self-love, 
rather than by the feelings of brotherly affection? 
We certainly discuss our thoughts and actions much 
better, and probe the emotions of the heart with 
greater sincerity, when we select for the examination 
of great and important truths those hours when we 
are alone before God. 

It is thus that in Solitude we renounce our inti- 
mate connection with men, to look back upon the 
transactions of life ; to discuss our conduct in the 
world ; to prepare for ourselves a more rational em- 
ployment in future; and to render "an account of 
those actions we have yet to perform. It is thus that 
the wounds whioh we have received in the hostilities 
of life are healed. In the intervals of a religious 



ZlMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 341 

retirement, virtuous resolutions are more easily 
acquired ; the heart is more easily appeased ; and we 
discover with greater certainty the safe road through 
all the formidable perils of life. It is thus that we 
are never less alone than Avhen no human being is 
near us, because we are then in the presence of Him 
whose will it is of the highest importance to our 
happiness to obey. 

Solitude always calls us from weakness to power, 
from seduction to resistance, from that which is 
present to that which is to come. Men, it is true, 
do not always enter into Solitude to commune with 
God ; but they willingly quit noisy and tumultuous 
assemblies for the quietude which ever reigns in his 
tranquil house, and rejoice that they are no longer 
obliged to lend themselves to pleasures which possess 
neither delicacy nor morality. In every peaceful 
moment of our existence, we are more immediately 
under the eye of Him whom it is so important to us 
to please, and whose eye is not unmindful of our 
sage and silent meditations. 

The apostles of society raise every where a con- 
tinual clamour, as if they had matters of very high 
importance to transact in the world. Every one 
ought certainly to do more than the strict line of 
duty calls upon him to perform ; but, unhappily, we 
all do less than our duty, and leave the affairs of the 
world to go on as they may. The energy necessary 
to the performance of great actions, elevation of cha- 
racter, and stability and firmness in virtue, are no 
where so easily acquired as in Solitude, and never 



312 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

so efficaciously as by Religion. — Religion disenga- 
ges the heart from every vain desire, renders it 
tranquil under the pressure of misf o rtunes, hum- 
ble before God, bold before men, and teaches it to 
rely with confidence upon the protection of Pro- 
vidence. Solitude and religion refine all our moral 
sentiments while we remain uninfected with the 
leaven of fanaticism ; and at the conclusion of a life 
passed in the practice of every virtue, we receive the 
reward from all the hours which we have consecrated 
to God in silence ; of that constant and religious 
zeal with which we have raised towards him pure 
hands and a chaste heart. 

The low desires of this world disappear when we 
have courage enough to think that the actual state of 
lasting content has some analogy to the joys of eter- 
nity. A complete liberty to be and to do whatever we 
please, because that in Heaven, in those regions of 
love and kindness, we cannot possess an unjust or 
improper inclination ; a life of innocence ; a jus- 
tification of the ways of Providence; an implicit 
confidence in God; an eternal communion with 
those whom our souls loved on earth ; are, at least, 
the wishes and the hopes which we may be, I trust, 
permitted, in our worldly apprehensions, to indulge, 
and which so agreeably flatter our imagination- But 
these hopes and wishes, which at present shed a 
glimmering light,, must remain like dreams and 
visions of the mind, until the tomb, thick clouds, and 
darkness, no longer hide eternity from human eyes ; 
until the veil shall be removed, and the Eternal re- 



ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 343 

veals to us those things which no eye has ever seen, 
which no ear has ever heard, which have never en- 
tered into the heart of man ; for with silent submis- 
sion I acknowledge, that eternity, to human fore- 
sight, is like what the colour of scarlet appeared to 
be in the mind of a blind man, who compared it to 
the sound of a trumpet. * 

In this world, full of restraints and embarass- 
ments, of troubles and of pains, the enjoyments of 
liberty, leisure, and tranquillity, are of inestimable 
value ; every one sighs to obtain them, as the sailor 
sighs at sea for land, and shouts with triumph when 
he sees it; but in order to be sensible of their worth, 
it is necessary to have felt the want of them. We 
resemble the inhabitant of Terra Firma, who cannot 
conceive an idea of the feelings which fill the bosom 
of a navigator, For myself, I do not know a more 

* Men, in general, fondly hope in eternity for all that is 
flattering to their taste, inclinations, desires, and passions 
on earth. I therefore entirely concur in opinion with a ce- 
lebrated German philosopher, Mr. Garve, that those persons 
cannot possess humility of heart who hope that God will 
hereafter reward them with riches and honour. It was these 
sentiments which occasioned a young lady of Germany, ex- 
tremely handsome, to say, she hoped to carry with her into 
the next world a habit of fine silver tissue, zoned with 
feathers, and to walk in i -I. aven on carpets of rose-leaves 
spread upon the firmament. This also was the reason why, 
in a full assembly of women of fashion, where the question 
was agitated, Whether marriages were good to all eternity? 
they all unanimously exclaimed, God preserve us from it ! 



344 ZIMMERMANN ON SOLITUDE. 

comfortable notion than that eternity promises a con- 
stant and uninterrupted tranquillity, although I per- 
fectly feel that it is not possible to form any idea of 
the nature of that enjoyment which is produced by a 
happiness without end An eternal tranquillity is 
the highest happiness of my imagination, for I know 
of no felicity upon earth that can equal peace of 
mind. 

Since therefore internal or external tranquillity is 
upon earth an incontestible commencement of bea- 
titude, it may be extremely useful to believe, that 
in a rational and moderate absence from the tumults 
of society we may highly rectify the faculties of the 
soul, and acquire elements of that happiness we ex- 
pect to enjoy in the world to come. 

I now conclude my reflections upon the Advan- 
tages of Solitude to the heart. May they give 
greater currency to useful sentiments, to consolatory 
truths, and contribute, in some degree, to diffuse the 
enjoyment of a happiness, which is so much within 
our reach! All my desires will then be satisfied. i\s 
for the rest, let every one live according to his in- 
clination, exercise virtue where he pleases, and 
choose such pleasures as he likes best, in the enjoy- 
ment of which he will be certain of receiving, both 
here and hereafter, the approbation of God and his 
own conscience. 

THE END. 



T. White, Printer, 

Johnson's Court, Fleet Street. 



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